v'  •^.^••^ 


NEW   FBAGMENTS 


ISTEW  FBAGMENTS 


BY 

JOHN  TYNDALL,  F.RS. 


NEW   YORK 
D.    APPLETON   AND    COMPANY 

1897 


Authorized  Edition, 


CONTENTS 


PAO« 
TFIK   SABBATH ,  .  1 

GOETHE'S  '  KARBENLE  nuts'          .                       ....  47 

ATOMS,  MOLECULES,  AND  ETHER  WAVE3        ....  78 

COUNT  RUM FORD 94 

LOUIS  PASTEUR,  JUS  LIKE  AND  LABOUKS      ....  174 

THE  KA1NBOW  AND  ITS  CONGENERS 199 

ADDRESS   DKI.1VERED   AT  THE  BIKKBECK    INSTITUTION  ON 
OCTOBER  22,  1884 224 

THOMAS   YOUNG      .....  248 

LIFE  IN   THE  ALPS 307 

ABOUT   COMMON    WATER         .           . 3.". I 

PERSONAL   RECOLLECTIONS   OF   THOMAS  CARLVLE   .           .           .  347 

ON    UNVEILING   THE   STATUE   OF   THOMAS   CARLYLE          .           .  392 

OX     THE     ORIGIN,      PROPAGATION,      AND      PREVENTION     OF 

PHTHISIS 398 

OLD  ALPINE  JOTTING?  ••......      429 

A    MORNING    ON    ALP    LV8GRX 498 


1880. 
7777?   SABBATH.1 

IN  the  opening  words  of  a  Lecture  delivered  in  this 
city  four  years  ago,*  I  spoke  of  the  desire  and  ten- 
dency of  the  present  age  to  connect  itself  organically 
with  preceding  ages.  The  expression  of  this  desire  is  not 
limited  to  the  connection  of  the  material  organisms  of 
to-day  with  those  of  the  geologic  past,  as  set  forth  in  the 
doctrines  of  Mr.  Darwin.  It  is  equally  manifested  in 
the  domain  of  mind.  To  this  source  may  be  traced  the 
philosophical  writings  of  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer.  To  it 
we  are  indebted  for  the  series  of  learned  and  laborious 
works  on  *  The  Sources  of  Christianity,'  by  M.  Renan. 
To  it  we  owe  the  researches  of  Professor  Max  Miiller 
in  the  domain  of  comparative  philology  and  mytho- 
logy, and  the  endeavour  to  found  on  these  researches  a 
*  science  of  religion.'  In  this  relation,  moreover,  the 
recent  work  of  Principal  Caird  3  is  highly  characteristic 
of  the  tendencies  of  the  age.  He  has  no  words  of 
vituperation  for  the  earlier  and  grosser  religions  of  the 
world.  Throughout  the  ages  he  discerns  a  purpose  and 
a  growth,  wherein  the  earlier  and  more  imperfect 
religions  constitute  the  natural  and  necessary  precursors 
of  the  later  and  more  perfect  ones.  Even  in  the  slough 

1  Presidential  Address  delivered  before   the  Glasgow   Sunday 
Society. 

1  Fermentation :  Fragments  of  Science,  vol.  ii.  p.  233 
3  Introduction  to  the  Philosophy  of  Religion. 


2  THE  SABBATH. 

of  ancient  paganism,  Principal  Caird  detects  a  power 
ever  tending  towards  amelioration, ever  working  towards 
the  advent  of  a  better  state,  and  finally  emerging  in 
the  purer  life  of  Christianity.1 

These  changes  in  religious  conceptions  and  practices 
correspond  to  the  changes  wrought  by  augmented  ex- 
perience in  the  texture  and  contents  of  the  human 
mind.  Acquainted  as  we  now  are  with  this  immeasur 
able  universe,  and  with  the  energies  operant  therein, 
the  guises  under  which  the  sages  of  old  presented  the 
Maker  and  Builder  thereof  seem  to  us  to  belorg  to 
the  utter  infancy  of  things.  To  point  to  illustrations 
drawn  from  the  heathen  world  would  be  superfluous. 
We  may  mount  higher,  and  still  find  our  assertion 
true.  When,  for  example,  Moses  and  Aaron,  Nadab 
and  Abihu,  and  seventy  Elders  of  Israel  are  represented 
as  climbing  Mount  Sinai,  and  actually  seeing  there  the 
God  of  Israel,  we  Hi-ten  to  language  to  which  we  can 
attach  no  significance.  *  There  is  in  all  this,'  says 
Principal  Caird,  'much  which,  even  when  religious 
feeling  is  absorbing  the  latent  nutriment  contained  in 
it,  is  perceived  [by  the  philosophic  Christian  of  to-day] 
to  belong  to  trie  domain  of  materialistic  and  figurative 
conception.'  The  reason  is  that  the  Christian  philoso- 
pher of  to-day  has  larger  capacities  and  fuller  knowledge 
than  the  Israelite  of  the  time  of  Moses.  What  the  one 
accepted  as  literal  truth  the  other  cannot  accept  save 
as  a  myth  or  figure.  The  children  of  Israel  received 
without  idealisation  the  statements  of  their  great  law- 
giver. To  them  the  tables  of  the  law  were  true  tablets 
of  stone,  prepared,  engraved,  broken,  and  re-engraved ; 
while  the  graving  tool  which  thus  inscribed  the  law 

1  In  Prof.  Jlax  Miiller's  Introduction  to  the  Science  of  Religion 
Borne  fine  passages  occur,  embodying  the  above  view  of  the  continuity 
of  religious  development. 


THE  SABBATH.  9 

was  held  undoubtingly  to  be  the  finger  of  God.  To  its 
such  conceptions  are  impossible.  We  may  by  habit  use 
the  words,  but  we  attach  to  them  no  definite  meaning. 
'As  the  religious  education  of  the  world  advances,' 
says  Principal  Caird,  'it  becomes  impossible  to  attach 
any  literal  meaning  to  those  representations  of  God 
and  his  relations  to  mankind,  which  ascribe  to  Him 
human  senses,  appetites,  passions,  and  the  actions  and 
experiences  proper  to  man's  lower  and  finite  nature.' 
To  Principal  Caird,  nevertheless,  this  imaging  of  the 
Unseen  is  of  inestimable  value.  It  furnishes  an  objec- 
tive counterpart  to  religious  emotion,  permanent  but 
plastic — capable  of  indefinite  change  and  purification 
in  response  to  the  changing  thoughts  and  aspirations  of 
mankind. 

It  is,  moreover,  solely  on  this  mutable  element  that 
Principal  Caird  fixes  his  attention  in  estimating  the 
religious  character  of  individuals,  or  the  point  of  pro- 
gress which  has  at  any  time  been  attained  by  nations 
or  races  in  the  religious  history  of  the  world.  '  Here,' 
he  says,  Hhe  fundamental  inquiry  is  as  to  the  objective 
character  of  their  religious  ideas  or  beliefs.  The  first 
question  is,  not  how  they  feel,  but  what  tlrjy  think  and 
believe  ;  not  whether  their  religion  manifests  itself  in 
emotions  more  or  less  vehement  or  enthusiastic,  but 
what  are  the  conceptions  of  God  and  divine  things  by 
which  these  emotions  are  called  forth?'  These  con- 
ceptions 'of  God  and  divine  things'  were,  it  is  admitted, 
once  '  materialistic  and  figurative,'  and  therefore  objec- 
tively untrue.  Nor  is  their  purer  essence  yet  distilled  ; 
for  the  religious  education  of  the  world  still  *  advances,' 
and  is,  therefore,  incomplete.  Hence  the  essentially 
fHixional  character  of  that  objective  counterpart  to 
religious  emotion  to  which  Principal  Caird  attaches 
most  importance.  He,  moreover,  assumes  that  the 


4  THE  SABBATH. 

emotion  is  called  forth  by  the  conception.  There  is 
doubtless  action  and  reaction  here  ;  but  it  may  be 
questioned  whether  the  conception,  which  is  a  construc- 
tion of  the  human  understanding,  could  be  at  all  put 
together  without  materials  drawn  from  the  experience 
of  the  human  heart.1 

The  changes  of  conception  here  adverted  to  have 
riot  always  been  peacefully  brought  about.  The  i  trans- 
mutation '  of  the  old  beliefs  was  often  accompanied  by 
conflict  and  suffering.  It  was  conspicuously  so  during 
the  passage  from  paganism  to  Christianity.  Some  of 
the  Roman  emperors  treated  the  Christians  with  fair- 
ness. Adrian  was  one  of  these.  '  If  anybody,'  he  says, 
writing  to  the  proconsul  of  Asia,  '  appear  as  accuser, 
and  can  prove  that  the  Christians  have  broken  the  laws, 
let  punishment  be  inflicted  in  proportion  to  the  gravity 
of  the  offence.  But,  by  Hercules !  if  any  should  de- 
nounce a  Christian  slanderously,  you  must  punish  the 
slanderer  still  more  severely.'  This  seems  a  very  honest 
line  for  a  pagan  emperor  to  pursue.  Some  of  his  suc- 
cessors followed  his  example,  but  others  did  not.  During 
the  reign  of  Nero  the  cruelties  inflicted  on  the  Christians 
at  Rome  can  hardly  be  mentioned  without  a  freezing  of 
the  blood.  According  to  Renan,  the  Antichrist  of  the 
Apocalypse  was  the  Emperor  Nero  ;  he  being  raised  to 
this  bad  eminence  by  reason  of  his  atrocities  against  the 
new  religion.  The  mystic  number  666,  which  Pro- 
testants have  so  often  fa>tened  upon  the  Pope,  answers 
accurately  to  Nero's  name  and  title.  The  numerical 

1  While  reading  the  volume  of  Principal  Caird  I  was  remind-  d 
more  than  once  of  the  following  passage  in  Renan's  Antechrist :  '  Et. 
d'ailleurs.  quel  est  1'homme  vraiment  religieux  qui  repudie  complete- 
ment  I'enseignement  traditionnel  &  1'ombre  duquel  il  sentit  d'abord 
1'ideal,  qui  ne  cherche  pas  les  conciliations,  souvent  impossibles, 
entre  sa  vieille  foi  et  celle  a  laquelle  il  est  arriv6  par  le  progres  de 
ea  pensee  ? ' 


THE  SABBATH.  5 

values  of  the  Hebrew  letters  added  together  make  up 
this  number. 

In  his  work  entitled  '  L'Eglise  Chretienne,'  Kenan 
describes  the  sufferings  ot  a  group  of  Christians  at 
Smyrna  which  may  be  taken  as  typical.  The  victims 
were  cut  up  by  the  lash  till  the  inner  tissues  of  their 
bodies  were  laid  bare.  They  were  dragged  mked  over 
pointed  shells.  They  were  torn  by  lions ;  and  finally, 
while  still  alive,  were  committed  to  the  flame.-:.  But  all 
these  tortures  failed  to  extract  from  them  a  murmur  or 
a  cry.  A  youth  named  Germanicus,  on  this  occasion, 
gave  his  companions  in  agony  an  example  of  super- 
human courage.  His  conflict  with  the  lions  called  forth 
such  admiration  that  the  proconsul  entreated  him  to 
have  mercy  on  his  own  youth.  Mercy  was  to  be  obtained 
by  recanting;  but,  instead  of  yielding,  the  youth  pro- 
voked and  excited  the  beasts,  anxious  to  be  torn  to 
pieces,  and  thus  removed  from  so  perverse  a  world. 
His  heroism  sirnplv  exasperated  his  brutal  persecutors, 
who,  when  he  was  despatched,  demanded  another 
victim.  The  Christians  were  called  Atheists — a  name 
then  and  long  afterwards  of  terrible  import.  '  Death 
to  the  Atheists!  let  us  seek  Pol) carp  I'  shouted  the 
maddened  crowd.  Polycarp,  the  friend  of  St.  John, 
and  the  principal  personage  in  the  Churches  of  Asia, 
was  then  resident  at  Smyrna.  They  sought,  found,  and 
arrested  him.  Those  in  power  tried  at  first  to  coax  him 
into  apostasy,  but  threats  and  entreaties  proved  equally 
vain.  '  Insult  Christ ! '  exclaimed  Statins  Quadratus. 
Polycarp  replied :  '  For  eighty  and  six  years  have  I 
served  Him,  and  He  has  never  wronged  me — I  am  a 
Christian ! '  The  grand  old  man  felt  a  profound  disdain 
for  the  roaring  crowd  around  him.  *  Give  me  a  day,' 
said  he  to  Quadratus,  '  and  I  will  show  you  what  it  ia 
to  be  a  Christian.'  *  Persuade  the  people,'  retorted 


6  THE  SABBATH. 

Quadratus.     *I  will  reason  with  you,1  replied  Pqlycarp, 

*  because  our  precepts  oblige   us  to  show  respect   to 
those  in    authority  ;  but  I  refuse  to  plead  my  cause 
Before  a  mob.'     His  resolution  was  made  known  to  the 
crowd,  who  shouted  for  the  lions.     They  were  informed 
that  for  that  day  the  teasts  had  finished  their  work. 

*  To  the  flames,  then ! '  cried  the  people ;  and  the  aged 
man  was  led  to  the  stake.     There  he  publicly  thanked 
God  for  admitting  him  amongst  those  who  had  suffered 
death  for  his  name.     The  fate  of  Polycarp  reminds  one 
of  that  of  the  Jew  Eleazar,   described   in    the   s-ixth 
chapter  of  the  Second  Book  of  Maccabees.     The  Apo- 
crypha, I  would  remark,  ought  to  be  bound  up  with  all 
your  Bibles;  it  contains  much  that  is  beautiful  and 
wise,  and  there  is  in   history  nothing  finer  than  the 
description  of  Eleazar's  end. 

The  fortitude  of  the  early  Christians  gained  many 
converts  to  their  cause ;  still,  when  the  evidential  value 
of  fortitude  is  considered,  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that 
almost  every  faith  can  point  to  its  rejoicing  martyrs. 
Even  the  murderers  of  Polycarp  had  a  faith  of  their 
own,  the  imperilling  of  which  by  Christianity  spurred 
them  on  to  murder.  From  faith  they  extracted  the 
diabolical  energy  which  animated  them.  The  strength 
of  laith  is,  therefore,  no  proof  of  the  objective  truth  of 
faith.  Indeed,  at  the  very  time  here  referred  to  we 
find  two  classes  of  Christians  equally  strong — Jewish 
Christians  and  Gentile  Christians — who,  while  dying 
for  the  same  Master,  turned  their  backs  upon  each 
other,  mutually  declining  all  fellowship  and  communion. 
The  forces  which,  acting  on  a  large  scale,  had  differen- 
tiated Christianity  from  paganism,  soon  made  them- 
selves manifest  in  details,  producing  disunion  and 
opposition  among  those  whose  creeds  and  interests 
were  in  great  part  identical.  Struggles  for  priority, 


THE   SABBATH.  7 

moreover,  were  not  uncommon.  Jesus  himself  had  to 
quell  such  contentions.  His  exhortations  to  humility 
were  frequent.  'He  that  is  least  among  you  shall  be 
greatest  of  all.'  There  were  also  conflicts  upon  points 
of  doctrine.  Among  communities  so  diverse  in  tem- 
perament and  antecedents  differences  were  sure  to  arise. 
The  point  of  difference  which  concerns  us  most  had 
reference  to  the  binding  power  of  the  Jewish  law. 
Hero  dissensions  arose  among  the  apostles  themselves. 
Nobody  who  reads  with  due  attention  the  epistles  of 
Paul  can  fail  to  see  that  this  mighty  propagandist  had 
to  carry  on  a  lifelong  struggle  to  maintain  his  authority 
as  a  preacher  of  Christ.  There  were  not  wanting  those 
who  denied  him  all  vocation.  James  was  the  head  of 
the  Church  at  Jerusalem,  and  Judeo-Christians  held 
that  the  ordination  of  James  was  alone  valid.  Paul, 
therefore,  having  no  mission  from  James,  was  deemed 
by  some  a  criminal  intruder.  Tiie  real  fault  of  Paul 
was  his  love  of  freedom,  and  his  uncompromising  re- 
jection, on  behalf  of  his  Gentile  converts,  of  the  chains 
of  Judaism.  He  proudly  calls  himself  '  the  Apostle  of 
the  Gentiles.'  He  .«ays  to  the  Corinthians,  '  I  suppose 
I  was  not  a  whit  behind  the  chiefest  apostle.  Are  they 
Hebrews  ?  So  am  I.  Are  they  Israelites  ?  So  am  I. 
Are  they  of  the  seed  of  Abraham  ?  So  am  I.  Are  they 
ministers  of  Christ?  I  am  more  ;  in  labours  more 
abundant,  in  s- tripes  above  measure,  in  deaths  oft.'  He 
then  establishes  his  right  to  the  position  which  he 
claimed  by  recounting  in  detail  the  sufferings  he  had 
endured.  I  leave  it  to  you  to  compare  this  Christian 
hero  with  some  of  the  *  freethinkers '  of  our  own  day, 
who,  '  more  intolerant  than  the  intolerance  they  de- 
precate,' flaunt  in  public  their  cheap  and  trumpery 
theories  of  the  great  Apostle  and  the  Master  whom  be 
served. 


8  THE  SABBATH. 

Paul  was  too  outspoken  to  escape  assault.  All  in- 
sincerity or  double-facedness — all  humbug,  in  short — 
was  hateful  to  him ;  and  even  among  his  colleagues 
he  found  scope  for  this  feeling.  Judged  by  our  standard 
of  manliness,  Peter,  in  moral  stature,  fell  far  short  of 
Paul.  In  that  supreme  moment  when  his  Master 
required  of  him  'the  durance  of  a  granite  ledge'  Peter 
proved  'unstable  as  water.'  He  ate  with  the  Gentiles 
when  no  Judeo-Christian  was  present  to  observe  him ; 
but  when  such  appeared  he  withdrew  himself,  fearing 
those  which  were  of  the  circumcision.  Paul  charged 
him  openly  with  dissimulation.  But  Paul's  quarrel  with 
Peter  was  more  than  personal.  Paul  contended  for  a 
principle,  and  was  determined  at  all  hazards  to  shield 
his  Gentile  children  in  the  Lord  from  the  yoke  which 
their  Jewish  co-religionists  would  have  imposed  upon 
them.  '  If  thou,'  he  says  to  Peter,  '  being  a  Jew,  livest 
after  the  manner  of  the  Gentiles,  and  not  as  do  the  Jews, 
why  compellest  thou  the  Gentiles  to  live  as  the  Jews?' 
In  the  spirit  of  a  liberal,  not  in  name  but  in  deed,  he 
overthrew  the  Judaic  preferences  for  days,  deferring  at 
the  same  time  to  the  claims  of  conscience.  '  Let  him 
who  desires  a  Sabbath,'  he  virtually  says,  'enjoy  it;  but 
let  him  not  impose  it  on  his  brother  who  does  not.' 
The  rift  thus  revealed  in  the  apostolic  lute  widened  with 
time,  and  Christian  love  was  not  the  feeling  which 
long  animated  the  respective  followers  of  Peter  and 
Paul. 

We  who  have  been  born  into  a  settled  state  of  things 
can  hardly  realise  the  commotion  out  of  which  this  tran- 
quillity has  emerged.  We  have,  for  example,  the  canon 
ot  Scripture  already  arranged  for  us.  But  to  sift  and 
select  these  writings  from  the  mass  of  spurious  docu- 
ments afloat  at  the  time  of  compilation  was  a  work  of 
vast  labour,  difficulty,  and  responsibility.  The  age  was 


THE  SABBATH.  9 

rife  with  forgeries.  Even  good  men  lent  themselves  to 
these  pious  frauds,  believing  that  true  Christian  doctrine, 
which  of  course  was  their  doctrine,  would  be  thereby 
quickened  and  promoted.  There  were  gospels  and 
counter-gospels  ;  epistles  and  counter-epistles — somo 
fiivolous,  some  dull,  some  speculative  and  romantic, 
and  some  so  rich  and  penetrating,  so  saturated  with 
the  Master's  spirit,  that,  though  not  included  in  the 
canon,  they  enjoyed  an  authority  almost  equal  to  that 
of  the  canonical  books.  When  arguments  or  proofs 
were  needed,  whether  on  the  side  of  the  Jewish  Christians 
or  of  the  Gentile  Christians,  a  document  was  discovered 
which  met  the  case,  and  on  which  the  name  of  an 
apostle,  or  of  some  authoritative  contemporary  of  the 
apostles,  was  boldly  inscribed.  The  end  being  held  to 
sanctify  the  means,  there  was  no  lack  of  manufactured 
testimony.  The  Christian  world  seethed  not  only  with 
apocryphal  writings,  but  with  hostile  interpretations  of 
writings  not  apocryphal.  Then  arose  the  sect  of  the 
Gnostics — men  who  know — who  laid  claim  to  the  pos- 
session of  a  perfect  science,  and  who,  if  they  were  to  be 
believed,  had  discovered  the  true  formula  for  what 
philosophers  railed  *  the  Absolute.'  But  these  specula- 
tive Gnostics  were  rejected  by  the  conservative  and 
orthodox  Christians  of  their  day  as  fiercely  as  their 
successors  the  Agnostics — men  who  don't  know — ^are 
rejected  by  the  orthodox  in  our  own.  The  good  Polycarp 
one  day  met  Marcion,  an  ultra-Paulite,  and  a  celebrated 
member  of  the  Gnostic  sect.  On  being  asked  by  Mai- 
cion  whether  he,  Polycarp,  did  not  know  him,  Polycarp 
replied,  *  Yes,  I  know  you  very  well ;  you  are  the  first- 
born of  the  devil.'1  This  is  a  sample  of  the  bitterness 
then  common.  It  was  a  time  of  travail — of  throes  and 
whirlwinds.  Men  at  length  began  to  yearn  for  peace 
1  L'Egliie  Chritlenne,  p.  450. 


10  TTTE   SABBATH. 

and  unity.,  and  out  of  the  embroilment  was  slowly  con- 
solidated that  great  organisation  the  Church  of  Rome. 
The  Church  of  Rome  had  its  precursor  in  the  Church 
at  Rome.  But  Rome  was  then  the  capital  of  the  world  ; 
and,  in  the  end,  that  famous  city  gave  the  Christian 
Church,  established  in  her  midst,  such  a  decided  pre- 
ponderance that  it  eventually  laid  claim  to  the  proud 
title  of  '  Mother  and  Matrix  of  all  other  Churches.' 

With  terrible  jolts  and  oscillations  the  religious  life 
of  the  world  has  run  down 'the  ringing  grooves  of  change.^ 
A  smoother  route  may  have  been  undiscoverable.  At 
all  events  it  was  undiscovered.  Some  years  ago  I  found 
myself  in  discussion  with  a  friend  who  entertained  the 
notion  that  the  general  tendency  of  things  in  this  world 
is  towards  equilibrium,  the  result  of  which  would  be 
peace  and  blessedness  to  the  human  race.  My  notion 
was  that  equilibrium  meant  not  peace  and  blessedness, 
but  death.  No  motive  power  is  to  be  got  from  heat,  save 
during  its  fall  from  a  higher  to  a  lower  temperature,  as 
no  power  is  to  be  got  from  water  save  during  its  descent 
from  a  higher  to  a  lower  level.  Thus  also  life  consists,  not 
in  equilibrium,  but  in  the  passage  towards  equilibrium. 
In  man  it  is  the  leap  from  the  potential  through  the 
actual  to  repose.  The  passage  often  involves  a  fight. 
Every  natural  growth  is  more  or  less  of  a  struggle  with 
other  growths,  in  which  the  fittest  survive.  In  times 
of  strife  and  commotion  we  may  long  for  peace  ;  but 
knowledge  and  progress  are  the  fruits  of  action.  Some 
are,  and  must  be,  wiser  than  the  rest;  and  the  enuncia- 
tion of  a  thought  in  advance  of  the  moment  provokes 
dissent  or  evokes  approval,  and  thus  promotes  action. 
The  thought  may  be  unwise  ;  but  it  is  only  by  dis- 
cussion, checked  by  experience,  that  its  value  can  be 
determined.  Discussion,  therefore,  is  one  of  the  motive 
powers  of  life,  and,  as  such,  is  not  to  be  deprecated, 


THE  SABBATH.  11 

Still  one  can  hardly  look  without  despair  on  the 
passions  excited,  and  the  energies  wasted,  over  ques- 
tions which,  after  ages  of  strife,  are  shown  to  be  mere 
fatuity  and  foolishness.  Thus  the  theses  which  shook 
the  world  during  the  firs-t  centuries  of  the  Christian 
era  have,  for  the  most  part,  shrunk  into  nothingness. 
It  may,  however,  be  that  the  human  mind  could  not 
become  fitted  to  pronounce  judgment  on  a  controversy 
otherwise  than  by  wading  through  it.  We  get  clear  of 
the  jungle  by  traversing  it.  Thus  even  the  errors,  con- 
flicts, and  sufferings  of  bygone  times  may  have  been 
necessary  factors  in  the  education  of  the  world.  Let 
nobody,  however,  say  that  it  has  not  been  a  hard  educa- 
tion. The  yoke  of  religion  has  not  always  been  easy, 
nor  its  burden  light — a  result  arising,  in  part  from  the 
ignorance  of  the  world  at  large,  but  more  especially  from 
the  mistakes  of  those  who  had  the  charge  and  guidance 
of  a  great  spiritual  force,  and  who  guided  it  blindly. 
Looking  over  the  literature  of  the  Sabbath  question,  as 
catalogued  and  illustrated  in  the  laborious,  able,  and 
temperate  work  of  the  late  Mr.  Robert  Cox,  we  can  hardly 
repress  a  sigh  in  thinking  of  the  gifts  and  labours  of  in- 
tellect which  this  question  has  absorbed,  and  the  amount 
of  bad  blood  which  it  has  generated.  Further  reflection, 
however,  reconciles  us  to  the  fact  that  waste  in  intellect 
may  be  as  much  an  incident  of  growth  as  waste  in  nature. 

When  the  various  passages  of  the  Pentateuch  which 
relate  to  the  observance  of  the  Sabbath  are  brought 
together,  as  they  are  in  the  excellent  work  of  Mr.  Cox, 
and  when  we  pass  from  them  to  the  similarly  collected 
utterances  of  the  New  Testament,  we  are  immediately 
exhilarated  by  a  freer  atmosphere  and  a  vaster  sky. 
Christ  found  the  religions  of  the  world  oppressed  almost 
to  suffocation  by  the  load  of  formulas  piled  upon  them 
by  the  priesthood.  He  removed  the  load,  and  rendered 
2 


12  THE  SABBATH. 

respiration  free.  He  cared  little  for  forms  and  ceremo- 
nies, which  had  ceased  to  be  the  raiment  of  man'a 
spiritual  life.  To  that  life  he  looked,  and  it  he  sought 
to  restore.  It  was  remarked  by  Martin  Luther  that 
Jesus  broke  the  Sabbath  deliberately,  and  even  ostenta- 
tiously, for  a  purpose.  He  walked  in  the  fields;  he 
plucked,  shelled,  and  ate  the  corn ;  he  treated  the  sick, 
and  his  spirit  may  be  detected  in  the  alleged  imposition 
upon  the  restored  cripple  of  the  labour  of  carrying  his 
bed  on  the  Sabbath  day.  He  crowned  his  protest  against 
a  sterile  formalism  by  the  enunciation  of  a  principle 
which  applies  to  us  to-day  as  much  as  to  the  world  in 
the  time  of  Christ.  '  The  Sabbath  was  made  for  man, 
and  not  man  for  the  Sabbath.'  No  priestly  power,  he 
virtually  declares,  shall  henceforth  interfere  with  man's 
freedom  to  decide  how  the  Sabbath  is  to  be  spent. 

Though  the  Jews,  to  their  detriment,  kept  them- 
selves as  a  nation  intellectually  isolated,  the  minds  of 
individuals  were  frequently  coloured  by  Greek  thought 
and  culture.  The  learned  and  celebrated  Philo,  who 
was  contemporary  with  Josephus,  was  thus  influenced. 
Philo  expanded  the  uses  of  the  seventh  day  by  including 
in  its  proper  observance  studies  which  might  be  called 
secular.  '  Moreover,'  he  says,  '  the  seventh  day  is  also 
an  example  from  which  you  may  learn  the  propriety  of 
studying  philosophy.  As  on  that  day  it  is  said  God 
beheld  the  works  that  He  had  made,  so  you  also  may 
yourself  contemplate  the  works  of  Nature.'  Permission 
to  do  this  is  exactly  what  the  members  of  the  Sunday 
Society  humbly  claim.  The  Jew,  Philo,  would  grant 
them  this  permission,  but  our  straiter  Christians  will 
not.  Where  shall  we  find  such  samples  of  those  works 
of  Nature  which  Philo  commended  to  the  Sunday  con- 
templation of  his  countrymen,  as  in  the  British  Museum? 
Within  those  walls  we  have,  as  it  were,  epochs  disen- 


THE  SABBATH.  13 

tombed — ages  of  divine  energy  illustrated.  But  the 
efficient  authorities — among  whom  I  would  include  a 
short-sighted  portion  of  the  public — resolutely  close  the 
doors,  and  exclude  from  the  contemplation  of  these 
things  the  multitudes  who  have  only  Sunday  to  devote 
to  them.  Are  the  authorities  logical  in  doing  so  ?  Do 
they  who  thus  stand  between  them  and  the  public 
really  believe  those  treasures  to  be  the  work  of  God  ? 
Do  they  or  do  they  not  hold,  with  Paul,  that  '  the  eternal 
power  and  Godhead '  may  be  clearly  seen  from  *  the 
things  that  are  made '  ?  If  they  do — and  they  dare  not 
affirm  that  they  do  not — I  fear  that  Paul,  with  his  cus- 
tomary plainness  of  language,  would  pronounce  their 
conduct  to  be  '  without  excuse.' l 

Science,  which  is  the  logic  of  nature,  demands  pro- 
portion between  the  house  and  its  foundation.  Theology 
sometimes  builds  weighty  structures  on  a  doubtful  base. 
The  tenet  of  Sabbath  observance  is  an  illustration. 
With  regard  to  the  time  when  the  obligation  to  keep 
the  Sabbath  was  imposed,  and  the  reasons  for  its  im- 
position, there  are  grave  differences  of  opinion  between 
learned  and  pious  men.  Some  affirm  that  it  was  insti- 
tuted at  the  Creation  in  remembrance  of  the  rest  of  God. 
Others  allege  that  it  was  imposed  after  the  departure  of 
the  Israelites  from  Egypt,  and  in  memory  of  that  de- 
parture. The  Bible  countenances  both  interpretations. 
In  Exodus  we  find  the  origin  of  the  Sabbath  described 
with  unmistakable  clearness,  thus :  '  For  in  six  days  the 
Lord  made  heaven  and  earth,  the  sea  and  all  that  in  them 
is.  Wherefore  the  Lord  blessed  the  seventh  day,  and 

1  I  refer,  of  course,  to  those  who  object  to  the  opening  of  the 
museums  on  religious  grounds.  The  administrative  difficulty  stands 
on  a  different  footing.  But  surely  it  ought  to  vanish  in  presence  of 
the  benefits  to  teas  of  thousands  which  in  all  probability  would 
accrue. 


14  THE  SABBATH. 

hallowed  it.'  In  Deuteronomy  this  reason  is  suppressed 
and  another  is  assigned.  Israel  being  a  servant  in 
Egypt,  God,  it  is  stated,  brought  them  out  of  it  with  a 
mighty  hand  and  by  an  outstretched  arm.  '  Therefore 
the  Lord  thy  God  commandeth  thee  to  keep  the 
Sabbath  day.'  After  repeating  the  Ten  Commandments, 
and  assigning  the  foregoing  origin  to  the  Sabbath,  the 
writer  in  Deuteronomy  proceeds  thus:  'These  words 
the  Lord  spake  unto  all  your  assembly  in  the  mount, 
out  of  the  midst  of  the  fire,  of  the  cloud  and  the  thick 
darkness,  with  a  loud  voice ;  and  he  added  no  more.' 
But  in  Exodus  God  not  only  added  more,  but  something 
entirely  different.  This  has  been  a  difficulty  with 
commentators — not  formidable,  if  the  Bible  be  treated 
as  any  other  ancient  book,  but  extremely  formidable  on 
the  theory  of  plenary  inspiration.  I  remember  in  the 
days  of  my  youth  being  shocked  and  perplexed  by  an 
admission  made  by  Bishop  Watson  in  his  celebrated 
'  Apology  for  the  Bible,'  written  in  answer  to  Tom  Paine. 
'You  have,'  says  the  bishop,  'disclosed  a  few  weeds 
which  good  men  would  have  covered  up  from  view.' 
That  there  were  'weeds'  in  the  Bible  requiring  to  be 
kept  out  of  sight  was  to  me,  at  that  time,  a  new  revela- 
tion. I  take  little  pleasure  in  dwelling  upon  the  errors 
and  blemishes  of  a  book  rendered  venerable  to  me  by 
intrinsic  wisdom  and  imperishable  associations.  But 
when  that  book  is  wrested  to  our  detriment,  when  its 
passages  are  invoked  to  justify  the  imposition  of  a  yoke, 
irksome  because  unnatural,  we  are  driven  in  self-defence 
to  be  critical.  In  self-defence,  therefore,  we  plead  these 
two  discordant  accounts  of  the  origin  of  the  Sabbath, 
one  of  which  makes  it  a  purely  Jewish  institution,  while 
the  other,  unless  regarded  as  a  mere  myth  and  figure, 
is  in  irreconcilable  antagonism  to  the  facts  of  geology. 
With  regard  to  the  alleged  'proofs'  that  Sunday 


THE  SABBATH.  15 

was  introduced  as  a  substitute  for  Saturday,  and  that 
its  observance  is  as  binding  upon  Christians  as  their 
Sabbath  was  upon  the  Jews,  I  can  only  say  that  those 
which  I  have  seen  are  of  the  flimsiest  and  vaguest 
character.  '  If,'  says  Milton,  '  on  the  plea  of  a  divine 
command,  they  impose  upon  us  the  observances  of  a 
particular  day,  how  do  they  presume,  -without  the 
authority  of  a  divine  command,  to  substitute  another 
day  in  its  place  ?  '  Outside  the  bounds  of  theology  no 
one  would  think  of  applying  the  term  'proofs'  to  the 
evidence  adduced  for  the  change ;  and  yet  on  this 
pivot,  it  has  been  alleged,  turns  the  eternal  fate  of 
human  souls.1  Were  such  a  doctrine  not  actual  it 
would  be  incredible.  It  has  been  truly  said  that  the 
man  who  accepts  it  sinks,  in  doing  so,  to  the  lowest 
depth  of  Atheism.  It  is  perfectly  reasonable  for  a 
religious  community  to  set  apart  one  day  in  seven  for 
rest  and  devotion.  Most  of  those  who  object  to  the 
Judaic  observance  of  the  Sabbath  recognise  not  only 
the  wisdom  but  the  necessity  of  some  such  institution, 
not  on  the  ground  of  a  divine  edict,  but  of  common 
sense.8  They  contend,  however,  that  it  ought  to  be  as 
far  as  possible  a  day  of  cheerful  renovation  both  of 

1  In  1785  the  first  mail-coach  reached  Edinburgh  from  London, 
and  in  1788  it  was  continued  to  Glasgow.  The  innovation  was  de- 
nounced by  a  minister  of  the  Secession  Church  of  Scotland  as 
'  contrary  to  the  laws  both  of  Church  and  State ;  contrary  to  the 
laws  of  God ;  contrary  to  the  most  conclusive  and  constraining 
reasons  assigned  by  God ;  and  calculated  not  only  to  promote  the 
hurt  and  ruin  of  the  nation,  but  also  the  eternal  damnation  of  mul- 
titudes.'— Cox,  vol.  ii.  p.  248.  Even  in  our  day  there  are  clergymen 
foolish  enough  to  indulge  in  this  dealing  out  of  damnation. 

*  '  That  public  worship,'  says  Milton,  '  is  commended  and  in- 
culcated as  a  voluntary  duty,  even  under  the  Go»pel,  I  allow ;  but 
that  it  is  a  matter  of  compulsory  enactment,  binding  on  believers 
from  the  authority  of  this  commandment,  or  of  any  Sinaitical 
precept  whatever,  I  deny.' 


16  THE  SABBATH. 

body  and  spirit,  and  not  a  day  of  penal  gloom.  There 
is  nothing  that  I  should  withstand  more  strenuously 
than  the  conversion  of  the  first  day  of  the  week  into  a 
common  working  day.  Quite  as  strenuously,  however, 
do  I  oppose  its  being  employed  as  a  day  for  the  exercise 
of  sacerdotal  rigour. 

The  early  reformers  emphatically  asserted  the  free- 
dom of  Christians  from  Sabbatical  bonds ;  indeed  Puri- 
tan writers  have  reproached  them  with  dimness  of 
vision  regarding  the  observance  of  the  Lord's  Day. 
'  The  fourth  Commandment,'  says  Luther,  '  literally 
understood,  does  not  apply  to  us  Christians ;  for  it  is 
entirely  outward,  like  other  ordinances  of  the  Old 
Testament,  all  of  which  are  now  left  free  by  Christ. 
If  a  preacher,'  he  continues,  *  wishes  to  force  you  back 
to  Moses,  ask  him  whether  you  were  brought  by  Moses 
out  of  Egypt.  If  he  says  no,  then  say,  How,  then, 
does  Moses  concern  me,  since  he  speaks  to  the  people 
that  have  been  brought  out  of  Egypt  ?  In  the  New 
Testament  Moses  comes  to  an  end,  and  his  laws  lose 
their  force.  He  must  bow  in  the  presence  of  Christ.' 
'  The  Scripture,'  says  Melanchthon,  l  allows  that  we  are 
not  bound  to  keep  the  Sabbath  ;  for  it  teaches  that  the 
ceremonies  of  the  law  of  Moses  are  not  necessary  after 
the  revelation  of  the  Gospel.  And  yet,'  he  adds, 
*  because  it  was  requisite  to  appoint  a  certain  day  that 
the  people  might  know  when  to  assemble  together,  it 
appeared  that  the  Church  appointed  for  this  purpose 
the  Lord's  Day.'  I  am  glad  to  find  my  grand  old 
namesake  on  the  side  of  freedom  in  this  matter.  '  As 
for  the  Sabbath,'  says  the  martyr  Tyndale,  '  we  are 
lords  over  it,  and  may  yet  change  it  into  Monday,  or 
into  any  other  day,  as  we  see  need ;  or  may  make  every 
tenth  day  holy  day,  only  if  we  see  cause  why.  Neither 
need  we  any  holy  day  at  all  if  the  people  might  be 


THE  SABBATH.  17 

taught  without  it.'  Calvin  repudiated  'the  frivolities 
of  false  prophets  who,  in  later  times,  have  instilled 
Jewish  ideas  into  the  people.  Those,'  he  continues, 
1  who  thus  adhere  to  the  Jewish  institution  go  thrice  as 
far  as  the  Jews  themselves  in  the  gross  and  carnal 
superstition  of  Sabbatism.'  Even  John  Knoy  who 
has  had  so  much  Puritan  strictness  unjustly  laid  to  his 
charge,  knew  how  to  fulfil  on  the  Lord's  Day  the  duties 
of  a  generous,  hospitable  host.  His  Master  feasted  on 
the  Sabbath  day,  and  he  did  not  fear  to  do  the  same  on 
Sunday.  '  There  be  two  parts  of  the  Sabbath  day,' 
says  Cranmer :  '  one  is  the  outward  bodily  rest  from 
all  manner  of  labour  and  work ;  this  is  mere  cere- 
monial, and  was  taken  away  with  other  sacrifices  and 
ceremonies  by  Christ  at  the  preaching  of  the  gospel. 
The  other  part  of  the  Sabbath  day  is  the  inward  rest  or 
ceasing  from  sin.'  This  higher  symbolism,  as  regards 
the  Sabbath,  is  frequently  employed  by  the  Keformers. 
It  is  the  natural  recoil  of  the  living  spirit  from  the 
mechanical  routine  of  a  worn-out  hierarchy. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century,  demands 
for  a  stricter  observance  of  the  Sabbath  began  to  be 
made — probably  in  the  first  instance  with  some  reason, 
and  certainly  with  good  intent.  The  manners  of  the 
time  were  coarse,  and  Sunday  was  often  chosen  for  their 
offensive  exhibition.  But  if  there  was  coarseness  on 
the  one  side,  there  was  ignorance  both  of  Nature  and 
human  nature  on  the  other.  Contemporaneously  with 
the  demands  for  stricter  Sabbath  rules,  God's  judg- 
ments on  Sabbath-breakers  began  to  be  pointed  out. 
Then  and  afterwards  c  God's  Judgments '  were  much  in 
vogue,  and  man,  their  interpreter,  frequently  behaved 
as  a  fiend  in  the  supposed  execution  of  them.  But  of 
this  subsequently.  A  Suffolk  clergyman  named  Bownd, 
who,  according  to  Cox,  was  the  first  to  set  forth  at  large 


18  THE  SABBATH. 

the  views  afterwards  embodied  in  the  Westminster 
Confession,  adduces  many  such  judgments.  One  was 
the  case  of  a  nobleman, '  who  for  hunting  on  the  holy 
day  was  punished  by  having  a  child  with  a  head  like  a 
dog's.'  Though  he  cites  this  instance,  Bownd,  in  the 
matter  of  Sabbath  observance,  was  very  lenient  towards 
noblemen.  'Concerning  the  feasts  of  noblemen  and 
great  personages  or  their  ordinary  diet  upon  this  day 
(which  in  comparison  may  be  called  feasts),  because 
they  represent,'  says  the  doctor,  '  in  some  measure  the 
majesty  of  God  on  the  earth,  in  carrying  the  image  as 
it  were  of  the  magnificence  and  puissance  of  the  Lord, 
much  is  to  be  granted  to  them.' 

Imagination  once  directed  towards  this  question 
was  sure  to  be  prolific.  Instances  accordingly  grew 
apace  in  number  and  magnitude.  Memorable  examples 
of  God's  judgments  upon  Sabbath-breakers,  and  other 
like  libertines,  in  their  unlawful  sports  happening 
within  this  realm  of  England,  were  collected.  In- 
numerable cases  of  drowning  while  bathing  on  Sunday 
were  adduced,  without  the  slightest  attention  to  the 
logical  requirements  of  the  question.  Week-day  drown- 
ings  were  not  dwelt  upon,  and  nobody  knew  or  cared 
how  the  question  of  proportion  stood  between  the  two 
classes  of  bathers.  The  Civil  War  was  regarded  as  a 
punishment  for  Sunday  desecration.  The  fire  of  Lon- 
don, and  a  subsequent  great  fire  in  Edinburgh,  were 
ascribed  to  this  cause ;  while  the  fishermen  of  Berwick 
lost  their  trade  through  catching  salmon  on  Sunday. 
Their  profanation  was  thus  nipped  by  a  miracle  in  the 
hud,  and  they  were  brought  to  repentance.  A  Non- 
conformist minister  named  John  Wells,  whose  huge 
volume  is  described  by  Cox  as  '-the  most  tedious  of  all 
the  Puritan  productions  about  the  Sabbath,'  is  specially 
copious  in  illustration,  A  drunken  pedlar,  'fraught 


THE  SABBATH.  19 

with  commodities'  on  Sunday,  drops  into  a  river: 
God's  retributive  justice  is  seen  in  the  fact.  Wells 
travelled  far  in  search  of  instances.  One  Utrich  Schrce- 
tor,  a  Swiss,  while  playing  at  dice  on  the  Lord's  Bay, 
lost  heavily,  and  apparently  to  gain  the  devil  to  his 
side  broke  out  into  this  horrid  blasphemy :  '  If  fortune 
deceive  me  now  I  will  thrust  my  dagger  in  the  body  of 
God.'  Whereupon  he  threw  the  dagger  upwards.  It 
disappeared,  and  five  drops  of  blood,  which  afterwards 
proved  indelible,  fell  upon  the  gaming  table.  The 
devil  then  appeared,  and  with  a  hideous  noise  carried 
off  the  vile  blasphemer.  His  two  companions  fared  no 
better.  One  was  struck  dead  and  turned  into  worms, 
the  other  was  executed.  A  vintner  who  on  the  Lord's 
Day  tempted  the  passers-by  with  a  pot  of  wine  was 
carried  into  the  air  by  a  whirlwind  and  never  seen  more. 
*  Let  us  read  and  tremble,'  adds  Mr.  Wells.  At  Tid- 
worth  a  man  broke  his  leg  on  Sunday  while  playing  at 
football.  By  a  secret  judgment  of  the  Lord  the  wound 
turned  into  a  gangrene,  and  in  pain  and  terror  the 
criminal  gave  up  the  ghost. 

You  may  smile  at  these  recitals,  but  is  there  not  a 
survival  of  John  Wells  still  extant  among  you  ?  Are 
theie  not  people  in  your  midst  so  well  informed  as  to 
'  the  secret  judgments  of  the  Lord '  as  to  be  able  to  tell 
you  their  exact  value  and  import,  from  the  damaging 
of  the  share  market  through  the  running  of  Sunday 
trains  to  the  calamitous  overthrow  of  a  railway  bridge  ? 
Alphonso  of  Castile  boasted  that  if  he  had  been  con- 
sulted at  the  beginning  of  things  he  could  have  saved 
the  Creator  some  worlds  of  trouble.  It  would  not  be 
difficult  to  give  the  God  of  our  more  rigid  Sabbatarians 
a  lesson  in  justice  and  mercy ;  for  his  alleged  judg- 
ments savour  but  little  of  either.  How  are  calamities 
to  be  classified  ?  Almost  within  earshot  of  those  who 


20  THE  SABBATH. 

note  these  Sunday  judgments,  the  poor  miners  of  Blan- 
tyre  are  blown  to  pieces,.while  engaged  in  their  sinless 
week-day  toil.  A  little  further  off  the  bodies  of  two 
hundred  and  sixty  workers,  equally  innocent  of  Sabbath- 
breaking,  are  entombed  at  Abercarne.  Dinas  holds  its 
sixty  bodies,  while  the  present  year  has  furnished  a 
fearful  tale  of  similar  disasters.  Whence  comes  the 
vision  which  differentiates  -the  Sunday  calamity  from 
the  week-day  calamity,  seeing  in  the  one  a  judgment 
of  heaven,  and  in  the  other  a  natural  event  ?  "We  may 
wink  at  the  ignorance  of  John  Wells,  for  he  lived  in  a 
prescientific  age;  but  it  is  not  pleasant  to  see  his 
features  reproduced,  on  however  small  a  scale,  before 
an  educated  nation  in  the  latter  half  of  the  nineteenth 
century. 

Notwithstanding  their  strictness  about  the  Sabb'ath, 
which  possibly  carried  with  it  the  usual  excess  of  a  re- 
action, some  of  the  straitest  of  the  Puritan  sect  saw 
clearly  that  unremitting  attention  to  business,  whether 
religious  or  secular,  was  unhealthy.  These  considered 
recreation  to  be  as  necessary  to  health  as  daily  food ; 
and  hence  exhorted  parents  and  masters,  if  they  would 
avoid  the  desecration  of  the  Sabbath,  to  allow  to  chil- 
dren and  servants  time  for  honest  recreation  on  other 
days.  They  might  have  done  well  to  inquire  whether 
even  Sunday  devotions  might  not,  without  '  moral  cul- 
pability '  on  their  part,  keep  the  minds  of  children  and 
servants  too  long  upon  the  stretch.  I  fear  many  of  the 
good  men  who  insisted,  and  insist,  on  a  Judaic  observance 
of  the  Sabbath,  and  who  dwell  upon  the  peace  and 
blessedness  to  be  derived  from  a  proper  use  of  the 
Lord's  Day,  generalise  beyond  their  data,  applying  the 
experience  of  the  individual  to  the  case  of  mankind. 
What  is  a  conscious  joy  and  blessing  to  themselves  they 
cannot  dream  of  as  being  a  possible  misery,  or  even  a 


THE  SABBATH.  21 

curse,  to  others.  It  is  right  that  your  most  spiritually- 
minded  men — men  who,  to  use  a  devotional  phrase,  en- 
joy the  closest  walk  with  Grod — should  be  your  pastors. 
But  they  ought  also  to  be  practical  men,  able  to  look 
not  only  on  their  personal  feelings,  but  on  the  capacities 
of  humanity  at  large,  and  willing  to  make  their  rules 
and  teachings  square  with  these  capacities.  There  is 
in  some  minds  a  natural  bias  towards  religion,  as  there 
is  in  others  towards  poetry,  art,  or  mathematics ;  but 
the  poet,  artist,  or  mathematician  who  would  seek  to 
impose  upon  others,  not  possessing  his  tastes,  the  studies 
which  give  him  delight,  would  be  deemed  an  intolerable 
despot.  The  philosopher  Fichte  was  wont  to  contrast 
his  mode  of  rising  into  the  atmosphere  of  faith  with  the 
experience  of  others.  In  his  case  the  process,  he  said, 
was  purely  intellectual.  Through  reason  he  reached 
religion ;  while  in  the  case  of  many  whom  he  knew  this 
process  was  both  unnecessary  and  unused,  the  bias  of 
their  minds  sufficing  to  render  faith,  without  logic,  clear 
and  strong.  In  making  rules  for  the  Community  these 
natural  differences  must  be  taken  into  account.  The 
yoke  which  is  easy  to  the  few  may  be  intolerable  to  the 
many,  not  only  defeating  its  own  immediate  purpose, 
but  frequently  introducing  recklessness  or  hypocrisy 
into  minds  which  a  franker  and  more  liberal  treatment 
would  have  kept  free  from  both.1 

The  moods  of  the  times — the  '  climates  of  opinion,' 

1  '  When  our  Puritan  friends,'  says  Mr.  Frederick  Robertson, 
•talk  of  the  blessings  of  the  Sabbath,  we  may  ask  them  to  remem- 
ber some  of  its  curses.'  Other  and  more  serious  evils  than  those 
recounted  by  Mr.  Robertson  may,  I  fear,  be  traced  to  the  system  of 
Sabbath  observance  pursued  in  many  of  our  schools.  At  the  risk 
of  shocking  some  worthy  persons,  I  would  say  that  the  invention  of 
an  invigorating  game  for  fine  Sunday  afternoons,  and  healthy  indoor 
amusement  for  wet  ones,  would  prove  infinitely  more  effectual  as  an 
aid  to  moral  purity  than  most  of  our  plans  of  religious  meditation. 


22  THE  SABBATH. 

as  Glanvil  calls  them — have  also  to  be  considered  in 
imposing  disciplines  which  affect  the  public.  For  the 
ages,  like  the  individual,  have  their  periods  of  mirth 
and  earnestness,  of  cheerfulness  and  gloom.  From  this 
point  of  view  a  better  case  might  be  made  out  for  the 
earl}'  Sabbatarians  than  for  their  survivals  at  the  pre- 
sent day.  They  were  more  in  accord  with  the  needs 
and  spirit  of  their  age.  Sunday  sports  were  barbarous ; 
bull-  and  bear-baiting,  interludes,  and  bowling  were 
reckoned  amongst  them,  and  the  more  earnest  spirits 
longed  not  only  to  promote  edification  but  to  curb  ex- 
cess. Sabbatarianism,  therefore,  though  opposed,  made 
rapid  progress.  Its  opponents  were  not  always  wise. 
They  did  what  religious  parties,  when  in  power,  always 
do — exercised  that  power  tyrannically.  They  invoked 
the  arm  of  the  flesh  to  suppress  or  change  conviction. 
In  1618  James  I.  published  a  declaration,  known  after- 
wards as  c  The  Book  of  Sports,'  because  it  had  reference 
to  Sunday  recreations.  It  seems  to  have  been,  in  itself, 
a  reasonable  book.  Puritan  magistrates  had  interfered 
with  the  innocent  amusements  of  the  people,  and  the 
king  wished  to  insure  their  being  permitted,  after  divine 
service,  to  those  who  desired  them ;  but  not  enjoined 
upon  those  who  did  not.  Coarser  sports,  and  sports 
tending  to  immorality,  were  prohibited.  Charles  I. 
renewed  the  declaration  of  his  father.  Not  content, 
however,  with  expressing  his  royal  pleasure — not  con- 
tent with  restraining  the  arbitrary  civil  magistrate — the 
king  decreed  that  the  declaration  should  be  published 
'  through  all  the  parish  churches,'  the  bishops  in  their 
respective  dioceses  being  made  the  vehicles  of  the  royal 
command.  Defensible  in  itself,  the  declaration  thus 
became  an  instrument  of  oppression.  The  High  Church 
party,  headed  by  Archbishop  Laud,  forced  the  reading 
of  the  documents  on  men  whose  consciences  recoiled 


THE  SABBATH.  23 

from  the  act.  'The  precise  clergy,  as  Hallam  calls 
them,  refused  in  general  to  comply,  and  were  suspended 
or  deprived  in  consequence.  'But/  adds  Hallarn, 
*  mankind  loves  sport  as  little  as  prayer  by  compulsion  ; 
and  the  immediate  effect  of  the  king's  declaration  was 
to  produce  a  far  more  scrupulous  abstinence  from  diver- 
sions on  Sundays  than  had  been  practised  before.' 

The  Puritans,  when  they  came  into  power,  followed 
the  evil  example  of  their  predecessors.  They,  the 
champions  of  religious  freedom,  showed  that  they  could, 
in  their  turn,  deprive  their  antagonists  of  their  benefices, 
fine  them,  burn  their  books  by  the  common  hangman, 
and  compel  them  to  read  from  the  pulpit  things  of 
which  they  disapproved.  On  this  point  Bishop  Heber 
makes  some  excellent  remarks.  'Much,'  he  says,  'as 
each  religious  party  in  its  turn  had  suffered  from  perse«- 
cution,  and  loudly  and  bitterly  as  each  had,  in  its  own 
particular  instance,  complained  of  the  severities  exer- 
cised against  its  members,  no  party  h  d  yet  been  found 
to  perceive  the  great  wickedness  of  persecution  in  the 
abstract,  or  the  moral  unfitness  of  temporal  punishment 
as  an  engine  of  religious  controversy.'  In  a  very  dif- 
ferent strain  writes  the  Dr.  Bowud  who  has  been  already 
referred  to  as  a  precursor  of  Puritanism.  He  is  so  sure 
of  his  '  doxy '  that  he  will  unflinchingly  make  others 
bow  to  it.  *  It  behoveth,'  he  says,  '  all  kings,  princes, 
and  rulers,  that  profess  the  true  religion  to  enact  such 
laws  and  to  see  them  diligently  executed,  whereby  the 
honour  of  God  in  hallowing  Ihese  days  might  be  main- 
tained. And,  indeed,  this  is  the  chiefest  end  of  all 
government,  that  men  might  not  profess  what  religion 
they  list,  and  serve  God  after  what  manner  it  pleaseth 
them  best,  but  that  the  parts  of  God's  true  worship 
[Bowndean  worship]  might  be  set  up  everywhere,  and 
all  men  compelled  to  stoop  unto  it.' 


24  THE  SABBATH. 

There  is,  it  must  be  admitted,  a  sad  logical  con- 
sistency in  the  mode  of  action  deprecated  by  Bishop 
Heber.  As  long  as  men  hold  that  there  is  a  hell  to  be 
shunned,  they  seem  logically  warranted  in  treating 
lightly  the  claims  of  religious  liberty  upon  earth.  'They 
dare  not  tolerate  a  freedom  whose  end  they  believe  to 
be  eternal  perdition.  Cruel  they  may  be  for  the  mo- 
ment, but  a  passing  pang  vanishes  when  compared  with 
an  eternity  of  pain.  Unreligious  men  might  call  it 
hallucination,  but  if  I  accept  undoubtingly  the  doctrine 
of  eternal  punishment,  then,  whatever  society  may  think 
of  my  act,  I  am  self-justified  not  only  in  '  letting '  but 
in  destroying  that  which  I  hold  dearest,  if  I  believe  it 
to  be  thereby  stopped  in  its  progress  to  the  fires  of  hell. 
Hence,  granting  the  assumptions  common  to  both,  the 
persecution  of  Puritans  by  High  Churchmen,  and  of 
High  Churchmen  by  Puritans,  was  not  without  a  basis 
in  reason.  I  do  not  think  the  question  can  be  decided 
on  a  priori  grounds,  as  Bishop  Heber  seemed  to  sup- 
pose. It  is  not  the  abstract  wickedness  of  persecution 
so  much  as  our  experience  of  its  results  that  causes  us 
to  set  our  faces  against  it.  It  has  been  tried,  and  found 
the  most  ghastly  of  failures.  This  experimental  fact 
overwhelms  the  plausibilities  of  logic,  and  renders  per- 
secution, save  in  its  meaner  and  steal thier  aspects,  in 
our  day  impossible. 

The  combat  over  Sunday  continued,  the  Sabbatarians 
continually  gaining  ground.  In  1643  the  divines  who 
drew  up  the  famous  document  known  as  the  Westminster 
Confession  began  their  sittings  in  Henry  VII. 's  Chapel. 
Milton  thought  lightly  of  these  divines,  who,  he  said, 
were  sometimes  chosen  by  the  whim  of  members  of 
Parliament ;  but  the  famous  Puritan,  Baxter,  extolled 
them  for  their  learning,  godliness,  and  ministerial 
abilities.  A  journal  of  their  earlier  proceedings  was 


THE  SABBATH.  25 

kept  by  Lightfoot,  one  of  their  members.  On  November 
1 3,  1 644,  he  records  the  occurrence  of  *  a  large  debate ' 
on  the  sanctification  of  the  Lord's  Day.  After  fixing 
the  introductory  phraseology,  the  assembly  proceeded  to 
consider  the  second  proposition  :  '  To  abstain  from  all 
unnecessary  labours,  worldly  sports,  and  recreations.'  It 
\vas  debated  whether  '  worldly  thoughts '  should  not  be 
added.  '  This  was  scrupulous,'  says  the  naive  journalist, 
*  whether  we  should  not  be  a  scorn  to  go  about  to  bind 
men's  thoughts,  but  at  last  it  was  concluded  upon  to  be 
added,  both  for  the  more  piety  and  for  the  Fourth 
Commandment.'  The  question  of  Sunday  cookery  was 
then  discussed  and  settled ;  and,  as  regards  public 
worship,  it  was  decreed  '  that  all  the  people  meet  so 
timely  that  the  whole  congregation  be  present  at  the 
beginning,  and  not  depart  until  after  the  blessing. 
That  what  time  is  vacant  between  or  after  the  solemn 
meetings  of  the  congregation  be  spent  in  reading,  medi- 
tation, repetition  of  sermons,'  &c.  These  holy  men 
were  full  of  that  strength  already  referred  to  as  imparted 
by  faith.  They  needed  no  natural  joy  to  brighten  their 
lives,  mirth  being  displaced  by  religious  exaltation. 
They  erred,  however,  in  making  themselves  a  measure 
for  the  world  at  large,  and  insured  the  overthrow  of 
their  cause  by  drawing  too  heavily  upon  average  human 
nature.  *  This  much,'  says  Hullam,  *  is  certain,  that 
when  the  Puritan  party  employed  their  authority  in 
proscribing  all  diversions,  and  enforcing  all  the  Jewish 
rigour  about  the  Sabbath,  they  rendered  their  own  yoke 
intolerable  to  the  young  and  gay  ;  nor  did  any  other 
cause,  perhaps,  so  materially  contribute  to  bring  about 
the  Restoration.' 

From  the  records  of  the  Town  Council  of  Edinburgh, 
Mr.  Cox  makes  certain  extracts  which  amusingly  illus- 
trate both  the  character  of  Sabbath  discipline  and  the 


26  THE  SABBATH. 

difficulty  of  enforcing  it.  In  1560  it  was,  among  other 
things,  decreed  that  on  Sundays  '  all  persous  be  astricted 
to  be  present  at  the  ordinary  sermons,  as  well  after  noon 
as  before  noon,  and  that  from  the  last  jow  of  the  bell 
to  the  said  sermons  to  the  final  end.'  In  1581  the 
Council  ordained  that  '  proclamation  be  made  through 
this  burgh,  discharging  all  kinds  of  games  and  plays 
now  commonly  used  the  said  day,  such  as  bowling  in 
yards,  dancing,  playing,  running  through  the  high 
street  of  hussies,  bairns,  and  boys,  with  all  manner  of 
dissolution  of  behaviour.'  The  people  obeyed  and  went 
to  church,  but  it  seems  they  chose  their  own  preachers. 
This  galavanting  among  the  kirks  was,  however,  quickly 
put  an  end  to;  for  in  1584  it  was  ordained  'that  all 
freemen  and  freemen's  wives  in  times  coming  be  found 
in  their  own  parish  kirk  every  Sunday,  as  also  at  the 
time  of  the  Communions,  under  the  pain  of  payment  of 
an  unlaw  for  every  person  being  found  absent.'  In  1586 
the  Council  '  finds  it  expedient  that  a  bailie  ilk  Sunday 
his  week  about,  visit  the  street  taverns  and  other  com- 
mon places  in  time  of  sermon,  and  pones  all  offenders 
according  to  the  town  statutes.'  Vaging  (strolling)  in 
the  High  Gate  was  also  forbidden. 

These  restrictions,  applying  at  first  to  the  time  of 
divine  service  only,  were  afterwards  extended  to  the 
entire  Sunday ;  but  sabbath  profanation  resembled  hy- 
draulic pressure,  and  broke  forth  whenever  it  found  a 
weak  point  in  the  municipal  dam.  The  repairing  and 
strengthening  of  the  dam  were  incessant.  Proclamation 
followed  proclamation,  forbidding  the  practice  of  buying 
and  selling,  the  opening  of  eating-  and  coffee-houses, 
and  prohibiting  such  sports  as  golf,  archery,  row-bowles, 
penny-stone,  and  kaitch-pullis.  The  gates  of  the  city 
were  ordered  to  be  closed  on  Saturday  night  and  not  to 
be  opened  before  four  o'clock  on  Monday  morning.  At 


THE  SABBATH.  27 

the  time  these  edicts  were  published  the  Provost  com- 
plained of  the  little  obedience  hitherto  given  to  the 
manifold  acts  of  council  for  keeping  the  Sabbath.  A 
decree  on  January  14,  1659,  runs  thus: — 

'  Whereas  many  both  young  and  old  persons  walk, 
or  sit  and  play  on  the  Castle  hill,  and  upon  the  streets 
and  other  places  on  the  Sabbath  day  after  sermons,  so 
that  it  is  manifest  that  family  worship  is  neglected  by 
such,  the  Council  appoint  that  there  be  several  pairs  of 
stocks  provided  to  stand  in  several  public  places  of  the 
city,  that  whosoever  is  needlessly  walking  or  sitting 
idly  in  the  streets  shall  either  pay  eighteen-pence  ster- 
ling penalty  or  be  put  in  the  stocks.' 

The  parents  of  children  found  playing  are  fined  6d. 
a  head.  *  And  if  any  children  be  found  on  the  Castle 
hill  after  supper  to  pay  I8d.  penalty  or  to  be  put  in 
the  stocks.'  Even  this  drastic  treatment  did  not  cure 
the  .evil,  for  thirty  years  later  the  edict  against 
'  vaging '  on  the  Castle  hill  had  to  be  renewed.  At 
the  same  time  it  was  ordered  that  the  public  wells  be 
closed  on  Sunday  from  8  A.M.  till  noon ;  then  to  open 
till  1  P.M.,  and  afterwards  from  5  P.M.  None  to  bring 
any  greater  vessels  to  the  wells  for  the  carrying  of 
water  than  a  pint  stoup  or  a  pint  bottle  on  the  Lord's 
Day.  Our  present  sanitary  .notions  were  evidently  not 
prevalent  in  Edinburgh  in  1689.  Mr.  Cox  remarks 
that  '  these  ordinances  were  usually  enacted  at  the  in- 
stance of  the  clergy.'  It  would  have  been  well  had 
the  evils  which  the  clergy  inflicted  on  the  world  at  the 
time  here  referied  to  been  limited  to  the  stern  manipu- 
lation of  Sabbath  laws.1 

1  In  Massachusetts  it  was  attempted  to  make  Sabbath-breaking 

a  capital  offence,  but  Governor  Winthrop  had  the  humanity  and  good 

sense  to  erase  it  from  the  list  of  acts  punishable  with  death.    In 

the  laws  of  the  colony  of  New  Plymouth,  presumptuous  Sabbath- 

3 


28  THE  SABBATH. 

In  1646  the  *  Confession,'  after  *  endless  janglings/ 
being  agreed  upon,  it  was  presented  to  Parliament, 
which,  in  1648,  accepted  and  published  its  doctrinal 
portion,  thus  securing  uniformity  of  doctrine  as  far  aa 
it  could  be  secured  by  legislation.  There  was  no  lack 
of  definiteness  in  the  Assembly's  statements.  They 
spoke  as  confidently  of  the  divine  enactments  as  if 
each  member  had  been  personally  privy  to  the  counsels 
of  the  Most  High.  When  Luther  in  the  Castle  of 
Marburg  had  had  enough  of  the  arguments  of  Zuin- 
glius  on  the  *  real  presence,'  he  is  said  to  have  ended  the 
controversy  by  taking  up  a  bit  of  chalk  and  writing 
firmly  and  finally  upon  the  table  '  Hoc  est  corpus 
meum.'  Equally  downright  and  definite  .were  the 
divines  at  Westminster.  They  were  modest  in  offering 
their  conclusions  to  Parliament  as  'humble  advice,' 
but  there  was  no  flicker  of  doubt  either  in  their  theo- 
logy or  their  cosmology.  *  From  the  beginning  of  the 
world,'  they  say,  'to  the  Resurrection  of  Christ  the  last 
day  of  the  week  was  kept  holy  as  a  Sabbath; '  while 
from  the  Resurrection  it  '  was  changed  into  the  first 
day  of  the  week,  which  in  Scripture  is  called  the  Lord's 
Day,  and  is  to  be  continued  to  the  end  of  the  world  as 
the  Christian  Sabbath.'  The  notions  of  the  divines, 
regarding  the  '  beginning  and  the  end '  of  the  world, 
were  primitive,  but  decided.  An  ancient  philosopher 
was  once  mobbed  for  venturing  the  extravagant  opinion 
that  the  sun,  which  appeared  to  be  a  circle  less  than  a 
yard  in  diameter,  might  really  be  as  large  as  the  whole 
country  of  Greece.  Imagine  a  man  with  the  know- 
ledge of  a  modern  geologist  lifting  up  his  voice  among 
these  Westminster  divines !  '  It  pleased  Grod,'  they 
continue,  '  at  the  beginning,  to  create,  or  make  of 

breaking  was  either  followed  by  death  or  '  grievously  punished  at 
the  judgment  of  the  court.' 


THE  SABBATH.  29 

nothing,  the  world  and  all  things  therein,  whether 
visible  or  invisible,  in  the  space  of  six  days,  and  all 
very  good.'  Judged  from  our  present  scientific  stand- 
point this,  of  course,  is  mere  nonsense.  But  the  calling 
of  it  by  this  name  does  not  exhaust  the  question.  The 
real  point  of  interest  to  me,  I  confess,  is  not  the  cos- 
mological  errors  of  the  Assembly,  but  the  hold  which 
theology  has  taken  of  the  human  mind,  and  which 
enables  it  to  survive  the  ruin  of  what  was  long  deemed 
essential  to  its  stability.  On  this  question  of  '  essen- 
tials '  the  gravest  mistakes  are  constantly  made.  Save 
as  a  passing  form  no  part  of  objective  religion  is  essen- 
tial. It  is,  as  already  shown,  in  its  nature  fluxional. 
Posterity  will  refuse  to  subscribe  to  the  Nicene  creed. 
Eeligion  lives  not  by  the  force  and  aid  of  dogma,  but 
because  it  is  ingrained  in  the  nature  of  man.  To  draw 
a  metaphor  from  metallurgy,  the  moulds  have  been 
broken  and  reconstructed  over  and  over  again,  but  the 
molten  ore  abides  in  the  ladle  of  humanity.  An  influ- 
ence so  deep  and  permanent  is  not  likely  soon  to  dis- 
appear ;  but  of  the  future  form  of  religion  little  can 
be  predicted.  Its  main  concern  may  possibly  be  to 
purify,  elevate,  and  brighten  the  life  that  now  is, 
instead  of  treating  it  as  the  more  or  less  dismal  vesti- 
bule of  a  life  that  is  to  come. 

The  term  'nonsense,'  which  has  been  just  applied 
to  the  views  of  creation  enunciated  by  the  Westminster 
Assembly,  is  u.sed,  as  already  stated,  in  reference  to  our 
present  knowledge  and  not  to  the  knowledge  of  three 
or  four  centuries  ago.  To  most  people  the  earth  was 
at  that  time  all  in  all ;  the  sun  and  moon  and  stars 
being  set  in  heaven  merely  to  furnish  lamplight  to  our 
planet.  But  though  in  relation  to  the  heavenly  bodies 
the  earth's  position  and  importance  were  thus  exagger- 
ated, very  inadequate  and  erroneous  notions  were 


30  THE  SABBATH. 

entertained  regarding  the  shape  and  magnitude  of  the 
earth  itself.  Theologians  were  horrified  when  first 
informed  that  our  planet  was  a  sphere.  The  question 
of  antipodes  exercised  them  for  a  long  time,  most  cf 
them  pouring  ridicule  on  the  idea  that  men  could  exist 
with  their  feet  turned  towards  us,  and  with  their  heads 
pointing  downwards.  I  think  it  was  Sir  George  Airy 
who  referred  to  the  case  of  an  over-curious  individual, 
asking  what  we  should  see  if  we  went  to  the  edge  of 
the  world  and  looked  over.  That  the  earth  was  a  flat 
surface  on  which  the  sky  rested  was  the  belief  enter- 
tained by  the  founders  of  all  our  great  religious 
systems.  The  growth  of  the  Copernican  theory  in 
public  favour  filled  even  liberal  Protestant  theologians 
with  apprehension.  They  stigmatised  it  as  being  *  built 
on  fallible  phenomena  and  advanced  by  many  arbitrary 
assumptions  against  evident  testimonies  of  Scripture.' ' 
Newton  finally  placed  his  intellectual  crowbar  beneath 
these  ancient  notions,  and  heaved  them  into  irretriev- 
able ruin. 

Then  it  was  that  penetrating  minds  among  the 
theologians,  seeing  the  nature  of  the  change  wrought 
by  the  new  astronomy  in  our  conceptions  of  the  uni- 
verse, also  discerned  the  difficulty,  if  not  the  impossi- 
bility, of  accepting  literally  the  Mosaic  account  of 
creation.  With  characteristic  tenacity  they  clung  to 
that  account,  but  they  assigned  to  it  a  meaning  entirely 
new.  Dr.  Samuel  Clarke,  who  was  the  personal  friend 
of  Newton  and  a  supporter  of  his  theory,  threw  out  the 
idea  that  ( possibly  the  six  days  of  creation  might  be 
a  typical  representation  of  some  greater  periods.' 
Clarke's  contemporary,  Dr.  Thomas  Burnet,  wrote  with 
greater  decision  in  the  same  strain.  The  Sabbath  being 

1  Such  was  the  view  of  Dr.  John  Owen,  who  is  described  by  Cox 
uu  '  the  most  eminent  of  the  Independent  divines.' 


THE  SABBATH.  31 

regarded  as  a  shadow  or  type  of  that  heavenly  repose 
which  the  righteous  will  enjoy  when  this  world  has 
passed  away,  '  so  these  six  days  of  creation  are  so  many 
periods  or  millenniums  for  which  the  world  and  the 
toils  and  labours  of  our  present  state  are  destined  to 
endure.' l  The  Mosaic  account  was  thus  reduced  to  a 
poetic  myth — a  view  which  afterwards  found  expression 
in  the  vast  reveries  of  Hugh  Miller.  But  if  this  sym- 
bolic interpretation,  which  is  now  generally  accepted, 
be  the  true  one,  what  becomes  of  the  Sabbath  day  ? 
It  is  absolutely  without  ecclesiastical  meaning.  The 
man  who  was  executed  for  gathering  sticks  on  that  day 
must  therefore  be  regarded  as  the  victim  of  a  rude 
legal  rendering  of  a  religious  epic. 

There  were  many  minor  offshoots  of  discussion 
from  the  great  central  controversy.  Bishop  Horsley  had 
defined  a  day  *  as  consisting  of  one  evening  and  one 
morning,  or,  as  the  Hebrew  words  literally  import,  of 
the  decay  of  light  and  the  return  of  it.'  But  what 
then,  it  was  asked,  becomes  of  the  Sabbath  in  the 
Arctic  regions,  where  light  takes  six  months  to '  decay,' 
and  as  long  to  l  return  '  ?  Differences  of  longitude, 
moreover,  render  the  observance  of  the  Sabbath  at  the 
same  hours  impossible.  To  some  people  such  ques- 
tions might  appear  trifling ;  to  others  they  were  of  the 
gravest  import.  Whether  the  Sabbath  should  stretch 
from  sunset  to  sunset,  or  from  midnight  to  midnight, 
was  also  a  subject  of  discussion.  '  If  it  should  begin  at 
midnight,'  says  one  writer,  '  what  man  of  a  thousand 
can  readily  tell  the  certain  time  when  it  begins,  that 
so  they  may  in  a  holy  manner  begin  the  Sabbath  with 
God  ?  All  men  have  not  the  midnight  clocks  and  bells 
to  awaken  them,  nor  can  the  crowing  of  cocks  herein 

1  Cox,  vol.  ii.  p.  211,  note. 


32  THE  SABBATH. 

give  a  certain  sound.  A  poor  Christian  man  had  need 
to  be  a  good  and  watchful  mathematician  that  holds 
this  opinion,  or  else  I  see  not  how  he  will  know  when 
midnight  is  come.'  In  1590  the  Presbytery  of  Glasgow 
enjoined  that  the  Sabbath  should  be  '  from  sun  to  sun.' 
In  1640  the  Sabbath  was  declared  to  extend  from  mid- 
night to  midnight.  Uncertainty  reigned,  and  innocent 
people  were  prosecuted  for  beginning  to  work  imme- 
diately after  sunset.  Already,  prior  to  the  date  last 
mentioned,  voices  were  heard  refusing  to  acknowledge 
the  propriety  of  the  change  from  Saturday  to  Sunday, 
and  the  doctrine  of  Seventh  Day  observance  was  after- 
wards represented  by  a  sect.1  The  earth's  sphericity 
and  rotation,  which  had  at  first  been  received  with 
such  affright,  came  eventually  to  the  aid  of  those 
afflicted  with  qualms  and  difficulties  regarding  the 
respective  claims  of  Saturday  and  Sunday.  The  sun 
moves  apparently  from  east  to  west.  Suppose  then  we 
start  on  a  voyage  round  the  world  in  a  westerly  direc- 
tion. In  doing  so  we  sail  away,  as  it  were,  from  the 
sun,  which  follows  and  periodically  overtakes  us,  reach- 
ing the  meridian  of  our  ship  each  succeeding  day 
somewhat  later  than  if  we  stood  still.  For  every  15° 
of  longitude  traversed  by  the  vessel  the  sun  will  be 
exactly  an  hour  late ;  and  after  the  ship  has  traversed 

1  Theophilus  Brabourne,  a  sturdy  Puritan  minister  of  Norfolk, 
whom  Cox  regards  as  the  founder  of  this  sect,  thus  argued  the  ques- 
tion in  1(!28  :  '  A.nd  now  let  me  propound  unto  your  choice  these  two 
days  :  the  Sabbath-day  on  Saturday  or  the  Lord's  Day  on  Sunday  ; 
and  keep  whether  of  the  twain  you  shall  in  conscience  find  the  more 
safe.  If  you  keep  the  Lord's  Day,  but  profane  the  Sabbath  Day,  you 
walk  in  great  danger  and  peril  (to  say  the  least)  of  transgressing 
one  of  God's  eternal  and  inviolable  laws — the  Fourth  Commandment. 
But,  <ri  the  other  side,  if  you  keep  the  Sabbath  Day,  though  you 
profant-  the  Lord's  Day,  you  are  out  of  all  gun-shot  and  danger,  for 
so  you  transgress  no  law  at  all,  since  neither  Christ  nor  his  apostles 
did  ever  leave  any  law  for  it.' 


THE  SABBATH.  3S 

twenty- four  times  15°,  or  360°,  that  is  to  say,  the 
entire  circle  of  the  earth,  the  sun  will  be  exactly  a  day 
behind.  Here,  then,  is  the  expedient  suggested  by 
Dr.  Wallis,  F.E.S.,  Savilian  Professor  of  Geometry  in 
the  University  of  Oxford,  to  quiet  the  minds  of  those 
in  doubt  regarding  Saturday  observance.  He  recom- 
mends them  to  make  a  voyage  round  the  world,  as  Sir 
Francis  Drake  did,  '  going  out  of  the  Atlantic  Ocean 
westward  by  the  Straits  of  Magellan  to  the  East  Indies, 
and  then  from  the  east  returning  by  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope  homeward,  and  let  them  keep  their  Saturday- 
Sabbath  all  the  way.  When  they  come  home  to  Eng- 
land they  will  find  their  Saturday  to  fall  upon  our 
Sunday,  and  they  may  thenceforth  continue  to  observe 
their  Saturday-Sabbath  on  the  same  day  with  us  1 ' 

Large  and  liberal  minds  were  drawn  into  this  Sab- 
batarian conflict,  but  they  were  not  the  majority. 
Between  the  booming  of  the  bigger  guns  we  have  an 
incessant  clatter  of  small  arms.  We  ought  not  to 
judge  superior  men  without  reference  to  the  spirit  of 
their  age.  This  is  an  influence  from  which  they  cannot 
escape,  and  so  far  as  it  extenuates  their  errors  it  ought 
to  be  pleaded  in  their  favour.  Even  the  atrocities  of 
the  individual  excite  less  abhorrence  when  they  are 
seen  to  be  the  outgrowth  of  his  time.  But  the  most 
fatal  error  that  could  be  committed  by  the  leaders  of 
religious  thought  is  the  attempt  to  force  into  their  own 
age  conceptions  which  have  lived  their  life,  and  come 
to  their  natural  end  in  preceding  ages.  History  is  the 
record  of  a  vast  experimental  investigation — of  a  search 
by  man  after  the  best  conditions  of  existence.  The 
Puritan  attempt  was  a  grand  experiment.  It  had  to  be 
made.  Sooner  or  later  the  question  must  have  forced 
itself  upon  earnest  believers  possessed  of  power: — la 
it  not  possible  to  rule  the  world  in  accordance  with 


34  THE  SABBATH. 

the  wishes  of  God  as  revealed  in  the  Bible  ? — Is  it  not 
possible  to  make  human  life  the  copy  of  a  divine 
pattern  ?  The  question  could  only  have  occurred  in 
the  first  instance  to  the  more  exalted  minds.  But  in- 
stead of  working  upon  the  inner  forces  and  convictions 
of  men,  legislation  presented  itself  as  a  speedier  way  to 
the  attainment  of  the  desired  end.  To  legislation, 
therefore,  the  Puritans  resorted.  Instead  of  guiding, 
they  repressed,  and  thus  pitted  themselves  against  the 
unconquerable  impulses  of  human  nature.  Believing 
that  nature  to  be  depraved,  they  felt  themselves  logi- 
cally warranted  in  putting  it  in  irons.  But  they  failed; 
and  their  failure  ought  to  be  a  warning  to  their  suc- 
cessors. 

Another  error,  of  a  far  graver  character  than  that 
just  noticed,  may  receive  a  passing  mention  here.  At 
the  time  when  the  Sabbath  controversy  was  hottest, 
and  the  arm  of  the  law  enforcing  the  claims  of  the 
Sabbath  strongest  and  most  unsparing,  another  subject 
profoundly  stirred  the  religious  mind  of  Scotland.  A 
grave  and  serious  nation,  believing  intensely  in  its 
Bible,  found  therein  recorded  the  edicts  of  the  Al- 
mighty against  witches,  wizards,  and  familiar  spirits, 
and  were  taught  by  their  clergy  that  such  edicts  still 
held  good.  The  same  belief  had  overspread  the  rest  of 
Christendom,  but  in  Scotland  it  was  intensified  by  the 
rule  of  Puritanism  and  the  natural  earnestness  of  the 
people.  I  have  given  you  a  sample  of  the  devilish 
cruelties  practised  in  the  time  of  Polycarp  on  the 
Christians  at  Smyrna.  These  tortures  were  far  lesa 
shocking  than  those  inflicted  upon  witches  in  Scotland. 
I  say  less  shocking  because  the  victims  at  Smyrna 
courted  martyrdom.  They  counted  the  sufferings  of 
this  present  time  as  not  worthy  to  be  compared  with 
the  glory  to  be  revealed ;  while  the  sufferers  for  witch- 


THE  SABBATH.  35 

craft,  in  the  midst  of  all  their  agonies,  felt  themselves 
God-forsaken,  and  saw  before  them  instead  of  the 
glories  of  heaven  the  infinite  tortures  o£  hell.  Not  to 
the  fall  of  Sarmatia,  but  to  the  treatment  of  witches  in 
the  seventeenth  century,  ought  to  be  applied  the  words 
of  jour  poet  Campbell : — 

Oh  I  bloodiest  picture  in  the  book  of  time  1 

The  mind  sits  in  sackcloth  and  ashes  while  contem- 
plating the  scenes  so  powerfully  described  by  Mr.  Lecky 
in  his  chapter  on  Magic  and  Witchcraft.  But  I  will 
dwell  no  further  upon  these  tragedies  than  to  point  out 
how  terrible  are  the  errors  which  our  clergy  may  com- 
mit after  they  have  once  subscribed  to  the  creed  and 
laws  of  Judaism,  and  constituted  themselves  the  legal 
exponents  and  interpreters  of  those  laws.1 

Turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  Pentateuch,  where 
God's  alleged  dealings  with  the  Israelites  are  recorded, 
it  strikes  one  with  amazement  that  such  writings  should 
be  considered  for  a  moment  as  binding  upon  us.  The 
overmastering  strength  of  habit,  the  power  of  early 
education — possibly  a  defiance  of  the  claims  of  reason 
involved  in  the  very  constitution  of  the  mental  organ — 
are  forcibly  illustrated  by  the  fact  that  learned  men  are 
still  to  be  found  willing  to  devote  their  time  and  en- 
dowments to  these  writings  under  the  assumption  that 
they  are  not  human  but  divine.  Claiming  the  same 
origin  as  other  books,  the  Old  Testament  is  without  a 
rival,  but  its  unnatural  exaltation  as  a  court  of  appeal 
provokes  recoil  and  rejection.  Leviticus,  for  example, 
when  read  in  the  light  of  its  own  age,  is  full  of  interest 

1  The  sufferings  of  reputed  witches  in  the  seventeenth  century 
as  well  as  those  of  the  early  Christians,  might  be  traced  to  panics 
and  passions  similar  in  kind  to  those  which  produced  the  atrocities 
ol  the  Reign  of  Terror  in  France. 


36  THE  SABBATH. 

end  instruction.  We  see  there  described  the  efforts  of 
the  best  men  then  existing  to  civilise  the  rude  society 
around  them.  Violence  is  restrained  by  violence  medi- 
cinally applied.  Passion  is  checked,  truth  and  justice 
are  extolled,  and  all  in  a  manner  suited  to  the  needs  of 
a  barbarian  host.  But  read  in  the  light  of  our  age, 
its  conceptions  of  the  deity  are  seen  to  be  shockingly 
mean,  and  many  of  its  ordinances  brutal.  Foolishness 
is  far  too  weak  a  word  to  apply  to  any  attempt  to  force 
upon  a  scientific  age  the  edicts  of  a  Jewish  lawgiver. 
The  doom  of  such  an  attempt  is  sure,  and  if  the  de- 
struction of  things  really  precious  should  be  involved 
in  its  failure,  the  blame  will  justly  be  ascribed  to  those 
who  obstinately  persisted  in  the  attempt.  Let  us  then 
cherish  our  Sunday  as  an  inheritance  derived  from  the 
wisdom  of  the  past,  but  let  it  l)e  understood  that  we 
cherish  it  because  it  is  in  principle  reasonable  and  in 
practice  salutary.  Let  us  uphold  it,  because  it  com- 
mends itself  to  that  '  light  of  nature '  which,  despite 
the  catastrophe  in  Eden,  the  most  famous  theologians 
mention  with  respect,  and  not  because  it  is  enjoined  by 
the  thunders  of  Sinai.  We  have  surely  heard  enough 
of  divine  sanctions  founded  upon  myths  which,  however 
beautiful  and  touching  when  regarded  from  the  proper 
point  of  view,  are  seen,  when  cited  for  our  guidance  as 
matters  of  fact,  to  offer  warrant  and  condonation  for 
the  greatest  crimes,  or  to  sink  to  the  level  of  the  most 
palpable  absurdities.1 

1  Melanchthon  writes  finely  thns :  « Wherefore  our  decision  is 
this :  that  those  precepts  which  learned  men  have  committed  to 
writing,  transcribing  them  from  the  common  reason  and  common 
feelings  of  human  nature  are  to  be  accounted  as  no  less  divine  than 
those  contained  in  the  tables  of  Moses.'  (Dugald  Stewart's  transla- 
tion.) Hengstenberg  quotes  from  the  same  reformer  as  follows : 
'  The  law  of  Moses  is  not  binding  upon  us,  though  some  things 
which  the  law  contains  are  binding,  because  they  coincide  with  the 


THE  SABBATH.  37 

In  this,  as  in  all  other  theological  discussions,  it  is 
interesting  to  note  how  character  colours  religious  feel- 
ing and  conduct.  The  reception  into  Christ's  kingdom 
has  been  emphatically  described  as  being  born  again. 
A  certain  likeness  of  feature  among  Christians  ought, 
one  would  think,  to  result  from  a  common  spiritual 
parentage.  But  the  likeness  is  not  observed.  Men 
professing  to  be  born  of  the  same  spirit,  prove  to  be  as 
diverse  as  those  who  claim  no  such  origin.  Christian 
communities  embrace  some  of  the  loftiest  and  many  of 
the  lowest  of  mankind.  It  may  be  urged  that  the  lofty 
ones  only  are  truly  religious.  To  this  it  is  to  be  re- 
plied that  the  others  are  often  as  religious  as  their 
natures  permit  them  to  be.  Character  is  here  the 
overmastering  force.  That  religion  should  influence 
life  in  a  high  way  implies  the  pre-existence  of  natural 
dignity.  This  is  the  mordant  which  fixes  the  religious 
dye.  He  who  is  capable  of  feeling  the  finer  glow  of 
religion  would  possess  a  substratum  available  for  all  the 
relations  of  life,  even  if  his  religion  were  taken  away. 
Religion,  on  the  other  hand,  cannot  charm  away  malice, 
or  make  good  defects  of  character.  I  have  already 
spoken  of  persecution  in  its  meaner  forms.  On  the 
lower  levels  of  theological  warfare  such  are  commonly 
resorted  to.  If  you  reject  a  dogma  on  intellectual 
grounds  it  is  because  there  is  a  screw  loose  in  your 
morality.  Some  personal  sin  besets  and  blinds  you. 
The  intellect  is  captive  to  a  corrupt  heart.  Thus  good 
men  have  been  often  calumniated  by  others  who  were 
not  good;  thus  frequently  have  the  noble  become  a 
target  for  the  wicked  and  the  mean.  With  the  advance 


law  of  nature.' — See  Cox,  vol  i.  p.  389.  The  Catechism  of  the 
Council  of  Trent  expresses  a  similar  \iew.  There  are,  then,  '  data 
of  ethics '  over  and  above  the  revealed  ones. 


38  THE  SABBATH. 

of  public  intelligence   the   day  of  such    assailants  is 
happily  drawing  to  a  close. 

These  reflections,  which  connect  themselves  with 
reminiscences  outside  the  Sabbath  controversy,  have 
been  more  immediately  prompted  by  the  aspersions 
cast  by  certain  Sabbatarians  upon  those  who  differ  from 
them.  Mr.  Cox  notices  and  reproves  some  of  these* 
According  to  the  Scottish  Sabbath  Alliance,  for  ex- 
ample, all  who  say  that  the  Sabbath  was  an  exclusively 
Jewish  institution,  including,  be  it  noted,  such  men  as 
Jeremy  Taylor  and  Milton,  *  clearly  prove  either  their 
dishonesty  or  ignorance,  or  inability  to  comprehend  a 
very  plain  and  simple  subject.'  This  becomes  real 
humour  when  we  compare  the  speakers  with  the  per- 
sons spoken  of.  A  distinguished  English  dissenter,  who 
deals  in  a  lustrous  but  rather  cloudy  logic,  declares 
that  whoever  asks  demonstration  of  the  divine  appoint- 
ment of  the  Christian  Sabbath  '  is  blinded  by  a  moral 
cause  to  those  exquisite  pencillings,  to  those  unob- 
truded  vestiges  which  furnish  their  clearest  testimony 
to  this  Institute.'  A  third  writer  charitably  professes 
his  readiness  *  to  admit,  in  reference  to  this  and  many 
other  duties,  that  it  is  quite  a  possible  thing  for  a  mind 
that  is  desirous  of  evading  the  evidence  regarding  it  to 
succeed  in  doing  so.'  A  fourth  luminary,  whose  know- 
ledge obviously  extends  to  the  mind  and  methods  of  the 
Almighty,  exclaims,  '  Is  it  not  a  principle  of  God's 
Word  in  many  cases  to  give  enough  and  no  more — to 
satisfy  the  devout,  not  to  overpower  the  uncandid?' 
It  is,  of  course,  as  easy  as  it  is  immoral  to  argue  thus ; 
but  the  day  is  fast  approaching  when  the  most  atra- 
bilious presbyter  will  not  venture  to  use  such  language. 
Let  us  contrast  with  it  the  utterance  of  a  naturally 
sweet  and  wholesome  mind.  '  Since  all  Jewish  festivals, 
new  moons,  and  Sabbaths,'  says  the  celebrated  Dr.  Isaac 


THE  SABBATH.  39 

Watts,  '  are  abolished  by  St.  Paul's  authority,  since  the 
religious  observation  of  days  in  the  14th  chapter  to  the 
Romans  in  general  is  represented  as  a  matter  of  doubt- 
ful disputation,  since  the  observation  of  the  Lord's  Day 
is  not  built  upon  any  express  or  plain  institution  by 
Christ  or  his  apostles  in  the  New  Testament,  but  rather 
on  examples  and  probable  inferences,  and  on  the  reasons 
and  relations  of  things;  I  can  never  pronounce  anything 
hard  or  severe  upon  any  fellow  Christian  who  maintains 
real  piety  in  heart  and  life,  though  his  opinion  on  this 
subject  may  be  very  different  from  mine.'  Thus 
through  the  theologian  radiates  the  gentleman. 

Up  to  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century 'the  cata- 
logue of  Mr.  Cox  embraces  320  volumes  and  publica- 
tions. It  is  a  monument  of  patient  labour ;  while  the 
remarks  of  the  writer,  which  are  distributed  throughout 
the  catalogue,  illustrate  both  his  intellectual  penetration 
and  his  reverent  cast  of  mind.  He  wrought  bard  and 
worthily  with  a  pure  and  noble  aim.  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  Mr.  Cox  at  Dundee  in  18^7,  when 
the  British  Association  met  there,  and  I  could  then 
discern  the  earnestness  with  which  he  desired  to  see  his 
countrymen  relieved  from  the  Sabbath  incubus,  and  at 
the  same  time  the  moderation  and  care  for  the  feelings 
of  others  with  which  he  advocated  his  views.  He  has 
also  given  us  a  rapid  'Sketch  of  the  Chief  Controversies 
about  the  Sabbath  in  'he  Nineteenth  Century.'  The 
sketch  is  more  compressed  than  the  catalogue,  and  the 
changes  of  thought  in  passing  from  author  to  author, 
being  more  rapid,  are  more  bewildering.  It  is,  to  a 
great  extent,  what  I  have  already  called  a  clatter  of 
small  arms  mingled  with  the  occasional  thunder  of 
heavier  guns.  One  thing  is  noticeable  and  regrettable 
in  these  discussions,  namely,  the  unwise  and  undis- 
criminating  way  in  which  different  Sunday  occupations 


40  THE  SABBATH. 

are  classed  together  and  condemned.  Bishop  Bloom- 
field,  for  example,  seriously  injures  his  case  when  he 
places  drinking  in  gin-shops  and  sailing  in  steamboats 
in  the  same  category.  I  remember  some  years  ago 
standing  by  the  Thames  at  Putney  with  my  lamented 
friend  Dr.  Bence  Jones,  when  a  steamboat  on  the  river 
with  its  living  freight  passed  us.  Practically  acquainted 
with  the  moral  and  physical  influence  of  pure  oxygen, 
my  friend  exclaimed,  '  What  a  blessing  for  these  people 
to  be  able  thus  to  escape  from  London  into  the  fresh 
air  of  the  country  I '  I  hold  the  physician  to  have  been 
right  and,  with  all  respect,  the  Bishop  to  have  been 
wrong. 

Bishop  Bloomfield  also  condemns  resorting  to  tea- 
gardens  on  Sunday.  But  we  may  be  sure  that  it  is  not 
the  tea-gardens,  but  the  minds  which  the  people  bring 
to  them,  which  produce  disorder.  These  minds  already 
possess  the  culture  of  the  city,  to  which  the  Bishop 
seems  disposed  to  confine  them.  Wisely  and  soberly 
conducted — and  it  is  perfectly  possible  to  conduct  them 
wisely  arid  soberly — such  gardens  might  be  converted 
into  aids  towards  a  life  which  the  Bishop  would  com- 
mend. Purification  and  improvement  are  often  possible, 
where  extinction  is  neither  possible  nor  desirable.  I 
have  spent  many  a  Sunday  afternoon  in  the  tea-gardena 
of  the  little  university  town  of  Marburg,  in  the  company 
of  intellectual  men  and  cultivated  women,  without 
observing  a  single  occurrence  which,  as  regards  morality, 
might  not  be  permitted  in  the  Bishop's  drawing-roomi 
I  will  add  to  this  another  observation  made  at  Dresden 
on  a  Sunday,  immediately  after  the  suppression  of  the 
insurrection  by  the  Prussian  soldiery  in  1849.  The 
victorious  troops  were  encamped  in  some  meadows  on 
the  banks  of  the  Elbe,  and  I  went  among  them  and  saw 
bow  they  occupied  themselves.  Some  were  engaged  in 


THE  SABBATH.  41 

physical  games  and  exercises  which  in  England  would 
be  considered  innocent  in  the  extreme,  some  were  con- 
versing sociably,  some  singing  the  songs  of  Uhland, 
while  others,  from  elevated  platforms, recited  to  listening 
groups  poems  and  passages  from  Goethe  and  Schiller. 
Through  this  crowd  of  military  men  passed  and  repassed 
the  girls  of  the  city,  linked  together  with  their  arms 
round  each  other's  necks.  During  hours  of  observation, 
I  heard  no  word  which  was  unfit  for  a  modest  ear ;  while 
from  beginning  to  end  I  failed  to  notice  a  single  case 
of  intoxication.1 

It  may  appear  uncivil  and  inappropriate  for  a  person 
invited  to  come  amongst  you  as  I  have  been  to  seek  to 
establish  contrasts  with  other  countries  unfavourable  to 
your  own  ;  but  let  me  take  an  extract  from  an  account 
of  Scotland  written  by  a  Scot,  a  short  time  prior  to  the 
date  of  my  visit  to  Dresden.  'A  tree,'  says  this  writer, 
1  is  best  known  by  its  fruits.  What  are  these  in  the 
present  instance  ?  The  protracted  effort  to  enforce  a 
stern  Sabbatical  observance  per  fas  et  nefas  has  no 
doubt  evoked  an  exceedingly  decorous  state  of  affairs 
on  Sunday ;  but  in  a  great  measure  only  so  far  as 
external  appearances  are  concerned.  Puritanism  with 
its  uncompromising  demands  has  had  a  sway  of  three 
centuries  in  Scotland  ;  and  yet  at  this  moment,  in  pro- 
portion to  the  population,  the  amount  of  crime,  vice,  and 
intemperance  is  as  great,  if  not  in  some  details  greater, 
than  it  is  in  England.  But  the  most  frightful  feature 
of  Scotland  is  the  loathsome  squalor  and  heathenism  of 
its  large  towns.  The  combination  of  brutal  iniquity, 
filth,  absence  of  self-respect,  and  intemperance  visible 

1  The  late  Mr.  Joseph  Kay,  as  Travelling  Bachelor  of  the  Univer- 
sity of  Cambridge,  has  borne  strong  and  earnest  testimony  to  the 
•  humanising  and  cirilising  influence '  of  the  Sunday  recreations  of 
the  German  people. 


42  THE  SABBATH. 

daily  in  the  meaner  class  of  streets  of  Edinburgh  and 
Glasgow  fills  every  traveller  with  surprise  and  horror.' 
Here  indeed  we  touch  the  core  of  the  whole  matter 
— the  appeal  to  experience.  Sabbatical  rigour  has  been 
tried,  and  the  question  is:  Have  its  results  been  so 
beneficent — so  conducive  to  good  morals  and  national 
happiness — as  to  render  criminal  every  attempt  to  modify 
it  ?  The  advances  made  in  all  kinds  of  knowledge  in 
this  our  age  by  special  cultivators  are  known  to  be 
enormous,  and  the  public  desire  for  instruction,  which 
the  intellectual  triumphs  of  the  time  naturally  and 
inevitably  arouse,  is  commensurate  with  the  growth  of 
knowledge.  Must  this  desire,  which  is  the  motive 
power  of  all  real  and  healthy  progress,  be  quenched  or 
left  unsatisfied  lest  Sunday  observances,  unknown  to 
the  sarly  Christians,  repudiated  by  the  heroes  of  the 
reformation,  and  insisted  upon  for  the  first  time  during 
a  period  of  national  gloom  and  suffering  in  the  seven- 
teenth century,  should  be  interfered  with  ?  To  justity 
this  position  the  demonstration  of  the  success  of  Sabba- 
tarianism must  be  complete.  Is  it  so?  Are  we  so 
much  better  than  other  nations  who  have  neglected  to 
adopt  our  rules,  that  we  can  point  to  the  working  of 
these  rules  in  the  past  as-  a  conclusive  reason  for  main- 
taining them  immovable  in  the  future  ?  The  answer 
must  be,  No!  Within  the  range  of  my  recollection  no 
German  man  would  have  ventured  to  assert  of  Berlin 
or  Dresden  that  its  brutal  iniquity,  filth,  and  intemper- 
ance filled  every  traveller  with  surprise  and  horror. 
The  statement  would  have  been  immediately  branded 
as  a  flagrant  untruth.  And  yet  this  is  the  language 
which,  thirty  years  ago,  when  the  Sabbath  was  observed 
more  strictly  than  it  is  now,  was  used  by  a  Scot  in 
reference  to  the  towns  of  Scotland.  My  Sabbatarian 
friends,  you  bave  no  ground  to  stand  upon.  I  say 


THE  SABBATH.  43 

friends,  for  I  would  far  rather  have  you  as  friends  than 
as  enemies — far  rather  see  you  converted  than  anni- 
hilated. You  possess  a  strength  and  earnestness  with 
which  the  world  cannot  dispense ;  but  to  be  productive 
of  anything  permanently  good,  that  strength  and  that 
earnestness  must  build  upon  the  sure  foundation  of 
human  nature.  This  is  that  law  of  the  universe  spoken 
of  so  frequently  by  your  illustrious  countryman,  Mr. 
Carlyle,  to  quarrel  with  which  is  to  provoke  and  pre- 
cipitate ruin.  Join  with  us  then  in  our  endeavours  to 
turn  our  Sundays  to  better  account.  Back  with  your 
support  the  moderate  and  considerate  demands  of  the 
Sunday  Society,  which  scrupulously  avoids  interfering 
with  the  hours  devoted  by  common  consent  to  public 
worship.  Offer  the  museum,  the  picture  gallery,  and 
the  public  garden  as  competitors  to  the  public-house. 
By  so  doing  you  will  fall  in  with  the  spirit  of  your  time, 
and  row  with,  instead  of  against,  the  resistless  current 
along  which  man  is  borne  to  his  destiny. 

Most  of  you  here  are  Liberals ;  perhaps  Kadicals, 
perhaps  even  ^Republicans.  In  the  proper  sense  of  the 
term,  I  am  a  Conservative.  Madness  or  folly  can  de- 
molish :  it  requires  wisdom  to  conserve.  But  let  us 
understand  each  other.  The  first  requisite  of  a  true 
conservatism  is  foresight.  Humanity  grows,  and  fore- 
sight secures  room  for  future  expansion.  In  your  walks 
in  the  country  you  sometimes  see  a  wall  built  round  a 
growing  tree.  So  much  the  worse  for  the  wall,  which  is 
sure  to  be  rent  and  ruined  by  the  energy  it  opposes.  "We 
have  here  represented  not  a  true,  but  a  false  and  igno- 
rant conservatism.  The  true  conservative  looks  ahead 
and  prepares  for  the  inevitable.  He  forestalls  revolution 
by  securing,  in  due  time,  sufficient  amplitude  for  the 
national  vibrations.  He  is  a  wrong-headed  statesman 
who  imposes  his  notions,  however  right  in  the  abstract, 
4 


14  THE  SABBATH. 

on  a  nation  unprepared  for  them.  He  is  no  statesman 
at  all  who,  without  seeking  to  interpret  and  guide  it  in 
advance,  merely  waits  for  the  more  or  less  coarse  ex- 
pression of  the  popular  will,  and  then  constitutes  himself 
its  vehicle.  Untimeliness  is  sure  to  be  the  characteristic 
of  the  work  of  such  a  statesman.  In  virtue  of  the 
position  which  he  occupies,  his  knowledge  and  insight 
ought  to  be  in  advance  of  the  public  knowledge  and 
insight ;  and  his  action,  in  like  degree,  ought  to  precede 
and  inform  public  action.  This  is  what  I  want  my 
Sabbatarian  friends  to  bear  in  mind.  If  they  look 
abroad  from  the  vantage-ground  which  they  occupy, 
they  can  hardly  fail  to  discern  that  the  intellect  of  this 
country  is  gradually  ranging  itself  upon  our  side. 
Whether  they  hear  or  whether  they  forbear,  we  are  sure 
to  unlock,  for  the  public  benefit,  the  doors  of  the 
museums  and  galleries  which  we  have  purchased,  and 
for  the  maintenance  of  which  we  pay.  But  I  would 
have  them  not  only  to  prepare  for  the  coming  change, 
but  to  aid  and  further  it  by  anticipation.  They  will 
thus,  in  a  new  fashion,  'dish  the  Whigs,'  prove  them- 
selves men  of  foresight  and  common  sense,  and  obtain 
a  fresh  lease  of  the  respect  of  the  community. 

As  the  years  roll  by,  the  term  'materialist'  will  lose 
more  and  more  of  its  evil  connotation  ;  for  it  will  be 
more  and  more  seen  and  acknowledged  that  the  true 
spiritual  nature  of  man  is  bound  up  with  his  material 
condition.  Wholesome  food,  pure  air,  cleanliness — hard 
work  if  you  will,  but  also  fair  rest  and  recreation — these 
are  necessary  not  only  to  physical  but  to  spiritual  well- 
being.  A  clogged  and  disordered  body  implies  a  more 
or  less  disordered  mind.  The  seed  of  the  spirit  is  cast 
in  vain  amid  stones  and  thorns,  and  thus  your  best 
utterances  become  idle  words  when  addressed  to  the 
acclimatised  inhabitants  of  our  slums  and  alleys. 


THE  SABBATH.  45 

Drunkenness  ruins  the  substratum  of  resolution  The 
physics  of  the  drunkard's  brain  are  incompatible  with 
moral  strength.  Here  your  first  care  ought  to  be  to 
cleanse  and  improve  the  organ.  Break  the  sot's  associa- 
tions ;  change  his  environment;  alter  his  nutrition  ;  dis- 
place his  base  imaginations  by  thoughts  drawn  from 
the  purer  sources  which  we  seek  to  render  accessible  to 
him.  Such  is  the  treatment  of  which  the  denizen  of  our 
slums  stands  in  most  immediate  need — such  the  disci- 
pline requisite  for  the  development  of  a  force  of  will, 
able  to  resist  the  fascinations  of  the  gin-shop.  If  you 
could  establish  Sunday  tramways  between  these  dens  of 
filth  and  iniquity  and  the  nearest  green  fields,  you 
would,  in  so  doing,  be  preaching  a  true  Grospel.  And 
not  only  the  denizens  of  our  slums,  but  the  proprietors 
of  our  factories  and  counting-houses  might,  perhaps, 
be  none  the  worse  for  an  occasional  excursion  in  the 
company  of  those  whom  they  employ.  A  most  blessed 
influence  would  also  be  shed  upon  the  clergy  if  they 
were  enabled  from  time  to  time  to  change  their  'sloth 
urbane '  for  action  on  heath  or  mountain.  Baxter  was 
well  aware  of  the  soothing  influence  of  fields,  and  coun- 
tries, and  walks  and  gardens,  on  a  fretted  brain. 
Jeremy  Taylor  showed  a  profound  knowledge  of  human 
nature  when  he  wrote  thus : — '  It  is  certain  that  all 
which  can  innocently  make  a  man  cheerful,  does  also 
make  him  charitable.  For  grief,  and  age,  and  sick- 
ness, and  weariness,  these  are  peevish  and  troublesome ; 
but  mirth  and  cheerfulness  are  content,  and  civil,  and 
compliant,  and  communicative,  and  love  to  do  good, 
and  swell  up  to  felicity  only  upon  the  wings  of  charity. 
Upon  this  account,  here  is  pleasure  enough  for  a 
Christian  at  present ;  and  if  a  facete  discourse,  and  an 
amicable  friendly  mirth,  can  refresh  the  spirit  and  take 
it  off  from  the  vile  temptation  of  peevish,  despairing, 


46  THE  SABBATH. 

uncomplying  melancholy,  it  nmst  needs  be  innocent 
and  commendable.'  I  do  not  know  whether  you  ever 
read  Thomas  Hood's  'Ode  to  Rae  Wilson,'  with  an 
extract  from  which  I  will  close  this  address.  Hood 
was  a  humourist,  and  to  some  of  our  graver  theologians 
might  appear  a  mere  feather-head.  But  those  who 
have  read  his  more  serious  works  will  have  discerned  in 
him  a  vein  of  deep  poetic  pathos.  I  hardly  know  any- 
thing finer  than  the  apostrophe  with  which  he  turns 
from  those 

That  bid  yon  baulk 
A  Sunday  walk, 
And  shun  God's  work  as  you  should  shun  your  own  ; 

Calling  all  sermons  contrabands, 

In  that  great  Temple  that's  not  made  with  hands, 

to  the  description  of  what  Sunday  might  be,  and  is,  to 
him  who  is  competent  to  enjoy  it  aright. 

Thrice  blessed,  rather,  is  the  man,  with  whom 
The  gracious  prodigality  of  nature, 
The  balm,  the  bliss,  the  beauty,  and  the  bloom, 
The  bounteous  providence  in  ev'ry  feature, 
Recall  the  good  Creator  to  his  creature, 
Making  all  earth  a  fane,  all  heav'n  its  dome  I 
To  his  tuned  spirit  the  wild  heather-bells 

King  Sabbath  knells ; 
The  jubilate  of  the  soaring  lark 

Is  chant  of  clerk  ; 

For  choir,  the  1  brush  and  the  gregarious  linnet ; 
The  sod's  a  cushion  for  his  pious  want ; 
And,  consecrated  by  the  heav'n  within  it, 

The  sky-blue  pool,  a  font. 
Each  cloud-capp'd  mountain  is  a  holy  altar  ; 

An  organ  breathes  in  every  grove  ; 

And  the  full  heart's  a  Psalter, 
Bicli  in  deep  hymns  of  gratitude  and  lovo  I 


1880. 
GOETHE'S  'FARBENLEIIRE:* 

IN  the  days  of  my  youth,  when  life  was  strong  and 
aspiration  high,  I  found  myself  standing  one  fine 
summer  evening  beside  a  statue  of  Goethe  in  a  German 
city.  Following  the  current  of  thought  and  feeling 
started  by  the  associations  of  the  place,  I  eventually 
came  to  the  conclusion  that,  judging  even  from  a 
purely  utilitarian  point  of  view,  a  truly  noble  work  of 
art  was  the  most  suitable  memorial  for  a  great  man. 
Such  a  work  appeared  to  me  capable  of  exciting  a 
motive  force  within  the  mind  which  no  purely  material 
influence  could  generate.  There  was  then  labour 
before  me  of  the  mo-t  arduous  kind.  There  were 
formidable  practical  difficulties  to  be  overcome,  and 
very  small  means  wherewith  to  overcome  them,  and 
yet  I  felt  that  no  material  means  could,  as  regards 
the  task  I  had  undertaken,  plant  within  me  a  resolve 
comparable  with  that  which  the  contemplation  of  this 
statue  of  Goethe  was  able  to  arouse. 

My  reverence  for  the  poet  had  been  awakened  by 
the  writings  of  Mr.  Carlyle,  and  it  was  afterwards  con- 
firmed and  consolidated  by  the  writings  of  Goethe  him- 
self. There  was,  however,  one  of  the  poet's  works  which, 
though  it  lay  directly  in  the  line  of  my  own  studies,  re- 
mained for  a  long  time  only  imperfectly  known  to  me. 
My  opinion  of  that  work  was  not  formed  on  hearsay.  I 

1  A  Friday  evening  discourse  in  the  Royal  Institution. 


48  GOETHE'S  'FAKBENLEHBE. ' 

dipped  into  it  so  far  as  to  make  myself  acquainted 
with  its  style,  its  logic,  and  its  general  aim ;  but  having 
done  this  I  laid  it  aside  as  something  which  jarred  upon 
my  conception  of  Goethe's  grandeur.  The  mind  will- 
ingly rounds  off  the  image  which  it  venerates,  and  only 
acknowledges  with  reluctance  that  it  is  on  any  side  in- 
complete ;  and  believing  that  Goethe  in  the  *  Farben- 
lehre'  was  wrong  in  his  intellectual, and  perverse  in  his 
moral  judgments — seeing  above  all  things  that  he  had 
forsaken  the  lofty  impersonal  calm  which  was  his  chief 
characteristic,  and  which  had  entered  into  my  concep- 
tion of  the  god-like  in  literature — I  abandoned  the 
'  Farbeulehre,'  and  looked  up  to  Goethe  on  that  side 
where  his  greatness  was  uncontested  and  supreme. 

But  in  the  month  of  May  1878  Mr.  Carlyle  did  me 
the  honour  of  calling  upon  me  twice ;  and  not  being 
at  home  at  the  time,  I  visited  him  in  Chelsea  soon 
afterwards.  He  was  then  in  his  eighty-third  year,  and 
looking  in  his  solemn  fashion  towards  that  portal  to 
which  we  are  all  so  rapidly  hastening,  he  remembered 
his  friends.  He  then  presented  to  me,  as  '  a  farewell 
gift,'  the  two  octavo  volumes  of  letterpress,  and  the 
single  folio  volume,  consisting  in  great  part  of  coloured 
diagrams,  which  are  here  before  you.  Exactly  half  a 
century  ago  these  volumes  were  sent  by  Goethe  to  Mr. 
Carlyle.  They  embrace  the  '  Farbenlehre ' — a  title 
which  may  be  translated,  though  not  well  translated, 
'Theory  of  Colours' — and  they  are  accompanied  by  a 
long  letter,  or  rather  catalogue,  from  Goethe  himself, 
dated  June  14,  IS 30,  a  little  less  than  two  years  before 
his  death.  My  illustrious  friend  wished  me  to  examine 
the  book,  with  a  view  of  setting  forth  what  it  really 
contained.  This  year  for  the  first  time  I  have  been  able 
to  comply  with  the  desire  of  Mr.  Carlyle  ;  and  as  I  knew 
that  your  wish  would  coincide  with  his,  as  to  the  pro- 
priety of  making  some  attempt  to  weigh  the  merits  *>f 


GOETHE'S   '  FARBENLEHRE.'  49 

a  work  which  exerted  so  great  an  influence  in  its  day,1 
I  have  not  shrunk  from  the  labour  of  such  a  review. 

The  average  reading  of  the  late  Mr.  Buckle  is  said 
to  have  amounted  to  three  volumes  a  day.  They  could 
not  have  been  volumes  like  those  of  the  '  Farbenlehre. 
For  the  necessity  of  halting  and  pondering  over  its 
statements  is  so  frequent,  and  the  difficulty  of  coming 
to  any  undoubted  conclusion  regarding  Groethe's  real 
conceptions  is  often  so  great,  as  to  invoke  the  expendi- 
ture of  an  inordinate  amount  of  time.  I  cannot  even 
now  say  with  confidence  that  I  fully  realise  all  the 
thoughts  of  Gfoethe.  Many  of  them  ate  strange  to  the 
scientific  man.  They  demand  for  their  interpretation 
a  sympathy  beyond  that  required,  or  even  tolerated,  in 
severe  physical  research.  Two  factors,  the  one  external 
and  the  other  internal,  go  to  the  production  of  every  in- 
tellectual result.  There  is  the  evidence  without,  and 
there  is  the  mind  within  on  which  that  evidence  im- 
pinges. Change  either  factor  and  the  result  will  cease 
to  be  the  same.  In  the  region  of  politics,  where  mere 
opinion  comes  so  much  into  play,  it  is  only  natural 
that  the  same  external  evidence  should  produce  different 
convictions  in  different  minds.  But  in  the  region  of 
science,  where  demonstration  instead  of  opinion  is 
paramount,  such  differences  ought  hardly  to  be  ex- 
pected. That  they  nevertheless  occur  is  strikingly  exem- 
plified by  the  case  before  us ;  for  the  very  experimental 
facts  which  had  previously  converted  the  world  to 
Newton's  views,  on  appealing  to  the  mind  of  Groethe, 
produced  a  theory  of  light  and  colours  in  violent  anta- 
gonism to  that  of  Newton. 

1  The  late  Sir  Charles  Eastlake  translated  a  portion  of  the 
Farbcrilelire ;  while  the  late  Mr.  Lewes,  in  his  Life  of  Goethe,  has 
given  a  brief  but  very  clever  account  of  the  work.  It  is  also 
dealt  with  by  Dove  and,  in  connection  with  Goethe's  other  scientific 
labours,  by  Helmholtz. 


50  GOETHE'S  '  FARBENLEHRE.' 

Goethe  prized  the  *  Farbenlehre '  as  the  most  import- 
ant of  his  works.  *  In  what  I  have  done  as  a  poet,'  he 
says  to  Eckermann,  *  I  take  no  pride,  but  I  am  proud 
of  the  fact  that  I  am  the  only  person  in  this  century 
who  is  acquainted  with  the  difficult  science  of  colours.' 
If  the  importance  of  a  work  were  to  be  measured  by  the 
amount  of  conscious  labour  expended  in  its  production, 
Goethe's  estimate  of  the  '  Farbenlehre '  would  probably 
be  correct.  The  observations  and  experiments  there 
recorded  astonish  us  by  their  variety  and  number.  The 
amount  of  reading  which  he  accomplished  was  obviously 
vast.  He  pursued  the  history  of  optics  not  only  along 
its  main  streams,  but  on  to  its  remotest  rills.  He  was 
animated  by  the  zeal  of  an  apostle,  for  he  believed  that 
a  giant  imposture  was  to  be  overthrown,  and  that  he 
was  the  man  to  accomplish  the  holy  work  of  destruction. 
He  was  also  a  lover  of  art,  and  held  that  the  enunciation 
of  the  true  principles  of  colour  would,  in  relation  to 
painting,  be  of  lasting  importance.  Thus  positively 
and  negatively  he  was  stimulated  to  bring  all  the 
strength  he  could  command  to  bear  upon  this  question. 
The  greater  part  of  the  first  volume  is  taken  up  with 
Goethe's  own  experiments,  which  are  described  in  920 
paragraphs  duly  numbered.  It  is  not  a  consecutive 
argument,  but  rather  a  series  of  jets  of  fact  and  logic 
emitted  at  various  intervals.  I  picture  the  poet  in  that 
troublous  war-time,  walking  up  and  down  his  Weimar 
garden,  with  his  hands  behind  his  back,  pondering  his 
subject,  throwing  his  experiments  and  reflections  into 
these  terse  paragraphs,  and  turning  occasionally  into 
his  garden  house  to  write  them  down.  This  first  por- 
tion of  the  work  embraces  three  parts,  which  deal,  re- 
spectively, with  Physiological  or  Subjective  Colours, 
with  Physical  or  Prismatic  Colours,  and  with  Chemical 
Colours  and  Pigments.  To  these  are  added  a  fourth 
part,  bearing  the  German  title,  '  Allgemeine  Ansichten 


GOETHE'S  '  FARBENLEHRE.'  51 

naeh  innen  ; '  a  fiftli  part,  entitled  *  Nachbarliche  Ver- 
haltnisse,'  neighbouring  relations ;  and  a  sixth  part, 
entitled  '  Sinnlich-sittliche  Wirkung  der  Farbe,'  sen- 
suously-moral effect  of  colours.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to 
remark  that  some  of  these  titles,  though  doubtless  preg- 
nant with  meaning  to  the  poet  himself,  are  not  likely  to 
commend  themselves  to  the  more  exacting  man  of 
science. 

The  main  divisions  of  Goethe's  book  are  subdivided 
into  short  sections,  bearing  titles  more  or  less  shadowy 
from  a  scientific  point  of  view — Origin  of  white ;  Origin 
of  black  ;  Excitement  of  colour ;  Heightening ;  Culmina- 
tion ;  Balancing  ;  Reversion  ;  Fixation  ;  Mixture  real ; 
Mixture  apparent ;  Communication  actual ;  Communi- 
cation apparent.  He  describes  the  colours  of  minerals, 
plants,  worms,  insects,  fishes,  birds,  mammals,  and 
men.  Hair  on  the  surface  of  the  human  body  he  con- 
siders indicative  rather  of  weakness  than  of  strength. 
The  disquisition  is  continued  under  the  headings — How 
easily  colour  arises ;  How  energetic  colour  may  be ; 
Heightening  to  red  ;  Completeness  of  manifold  pheno- 
mena ;  Agreement  of  complete  phenomena  ;  How  easily 
colour  disappears ;  How  durable  colour  remains ;  Relation 
to  philosophy  ;  Relation  to  mathematics ;  Relation  to 
physiology  and  pathology ;  Relation  to  natural  history ; 
Relation  to  general  physics  ;  Relation  to  tones.  Then 
follows  a  series  of  sections  dealing  with  the  primary 
colours  and  their  mixtures.  These  sections  relate  less 
to  science  than  to  art.  The  writer  treats,  among  other 
things,  of  ^Esthetic  effects  Fear  of  the  Theoretical: 
Grounds  and  Pigments,  Allegorical,  Symbolical,  and 
Mystical  use  of  colours.  The  headings  alone  indicate 
the  enormous  industry  of  the  poet ;  showing  at  the  same 
time  an  absence  of  that  scientific  definition  which  he 
stigmatised  as  '  pedantry '  in  the  case  of  Newton. 


52  GOETHE'S  '  FARBENLEHRE.' 

In  connection  with  his  subject,  Goethe  charged 
himself  with  all  kinds  of  kindred  knowledge.  He  refers 
to  ocular  spectra,  quoting  Boyle,  Butfon,  and  Darwin ; 
to  the  paralysis  of  the  eye  by  light ;  to  its  extreme 
sensitiveness  when  it  awakes  in  the  morning;  to  irradia- 
tion— quoting  Tycho  Brahe  on  the  comparative  apparent 
size  of  the  dark  and  the  illuminated  moon.  He  dwells 
upon  the  persistence  of  impressions  upon  the  retina, 
and  quotes  various  instances  of  abnormal  duration.  He 
possessed  a  full  and  exact  knowledge  of  the  phenomena 
of  subjective  colours,  and  described  various  modes  of 
producing  them.  He  copiously  illustrates  the  produc- 
tion by  red  of  subjective  green,  and  by  green  of  subjec- 
tive red.  Blue  produces  subjective  yellow,  and  yellow 
subjective  blue.  He  experimented  upon  shadows, 
coloured  in  contrast  to  sui rounding  light.  The  con- 
trasting subjective  colours  he  calls  'geforderte  Far- 
ben,'  colours  '  demanded '  by  the  eye.  Goethe  gives 
the  following  striking  illustration  of  these  subjective 
effects.  'I  once,'  he  said,  'entered  an  inn  towards 
evening,  when  a  well-built  maiden,  with  dazzlingly 
white  face,  black  hair,  and  scarlet  bodice  and  skirt  came 
towards  me.  I  looked  at  her  sharply  in  the  twilight, 
and  when  the  moved  away,  saw  upon  the  white  wall 
opposite,  a  black  face  with  a  bright  halo  round  it,  while 
the  clothing  of  the  perfectly  distinct  figure  appeared 
of  a  beautiful  sea-green.'  With  the  instinct  of  the 
poet,  Goeihe  discerned  in  these  antitheses  an  image  of 
the  general  method  of  nature.  Every  action,  he  says, 
implies  an  opposite.  Inhalation  precedes  expiration, 
and  each  systole  has  its  corresponding  diastole.  Such 
is  the  eternal  formula  of  life.  Under  the  figure  of 
systole  and  diastole  the  rhythm  of  nature  is  represented 
in  other  portions  of  his  work. 

Goethe  handled  the  prism  with  great  skill,  and  hi1* 


GOETHE'S  '  FARBENLEHRE.'  63 

experiments  with  it  are  numberless.  He  places  white 
rectangles  on  a  black  ground,  black  rectangles  on  a 
white  ground,  and  shifts  their  apparent  positions  by 
prismatic  refraction.  He  makes  similar  experiments 
with  coloured  rectangles  and  discs.  The  shifted  image 
is  sometimes  projected  on  a  screen,  the  experiment 
l>eing  then  '  objective.'  It  is  sometimes  looked  at 
directly  through  the  prism,  the  experiment  being  then 
'subjective.'  In  the  production  of  chromaiic  effects, 
lie  dwells  upon  the  absolute  necessity  of  boundaries — 
*  Granzen.'  The  sky  may  be  looked  at  and  shifted  by  a 
prism  without  the  production  of  colour;  and  if  the 
white  rectangle  on  a  black  ground  be  only  made  wide 
enough,  the  centre  remains  white  after  refraction,  the 
colours  being  confined  to  the  edges.  Goethe's  earliest 
experiment,  which  led  him  so  hastily  to  the  conclusion 
that  Newton's  theory  of  colours  was  wrong,  consisted 
in  looking  through  a  prism  at  the  white  wall  of  his  own 
room.  He  expected  to  see  the  whole  wall  covered  with 
colours,  this  being,  he  thought,  implied  in  the  theory 
of  Newton.  But  to  his  astonishment  it  remained  white, 
and  ouly  when  he  came  to  the  boundary  of  a  dark  or  a 
bright  space  did  the  colours  reveal  themselves.  This 
question  of  *  boundaries'  is  one  of  supreme  importance 
to  the  author  of  the  '  Farbenlehre ; '  the  end  and  aim 
cf  his  theory  being  to  account  for  the  coloured  fringes 
produced  at  the  edges  of  his  refracted  images. 

Darkness,  according  to  Goethe,  had  as  much  to  do 
as  light  with  the  production  of  colour.  Colour  was 
really  due  to  the  commingling  of  both.  Not  only  did 
his  white  rectangles  upon  a  black  ground  yield  the 
coloured  fringes,  but  his  black  rectangles  on  a  white 
ground  did  the  same.  The  order  of  the  colours  seemed, 
however,  different  in  the  two  cases.  Let  a  visiting  card, 
Lcld  in  the  hand  between  the  eye  and  a  window  facing 


54  GOETHE'S  '  FARBENLEHRE.' 

the  bright  firmament,  be  looked  at  through  a  prism ; 
then  supposing  the  image  of  the  card  to  be  shifted 
upwards  by  refraction,  a  red  fringe  is  seen  above  and  a 
blue  one  below.  Let  the  back  be  turned  to  the  window 
and  the  card  so  held  that  the  light  shall  fall  upon  it ; 
on  being  looked  at  through  the  prism,  blue  is  seen  above 
and  red  below.  In  the  first  case  the  fringes  are  due  to 
the  decomposition  of  the  light  adjacent  to  the  edge  of 
the  card,  which  simply  acts  as  an  opaque  body,  and 
might  have  been  actually  black.  In  the  second  case 
the  light  decomposed  is  that  coming  from  the  surface 
of  the  card  itself.  The  first  experiment  corresponds  to 
that  of  Goethe  with  a  black  rectangle  on  a  white 
ground ;  while  the  second  experiment  corresponds  to 
Goethe's  white  rectangle  on  a  black  ground.  Both 
these  effects  are  immediately  deducible  from  Newton's 
theory  of  colours.  But  this,  though  explained  to  him 
by  physicists  of  great  experience  and  reputation,  Goethe 
could  never  be  brought  to  see,  and  he  continued  to 
affirm  to  the  end  of  his  life  that  the  results  were  utterly 
irreconcilable  with  the  theory  of  Newton. 

In  his  own  explanations  Goethe  began  at  the  wrong 
end,  inverting  the  true  order  of  thought,  and  trying  to 
make  the  outcome  of  theory  its  foundation.  Apart 
from  theory,  however,  his  observations  are  of  great 
interest  and  variety.  He  looked  to  the  zenith  at  mid- 
night, and  found  before  him  the  blackness  of  space, 
while  in  daylight  he  saw  the  blue  firmament  overhead  ; 
and  he  rightly  adopted  the  conclusion  that  this  colour- 
ing of  the  sky  was  due  to  the  shining  of  the  sun  upon 
a  turbid  medium  with  darkness  behind.  He  by  no 
means  understood  the  physical  action  of  turbid  media, 
but  he  made  a  great  variety  of  experiments  bearing 
upon  this  point.  Water,  for  example,  rendered  turbid 
by  varnish,  soap,  or  milk,  and  having  a  black  ground 


GOETHE'S  '  FARBENLEHRE.'  £5 

behind  it,  always  appeared  blue  when  shone  upon  by 
white  light.  When,  instead  of  a  black  background,  a 
bright  one  was  placed  behind,  so  that  the  light  shone, 
not  on  but  through  the  turbid  liquid,  the  blue  colour 
disappeared,  and  he  had  yellow  in  its  place.  Such 
experiments  are  capable  of  endless  variation.  To  this 
class  of  effects  belongs  the  painter's  *  chill.'  A  cold 
bluish  bloom,  like  that  of  a  plum,  is  sometimes  observed 
to  cover  the  browns  of  a  varnished  picture.  This  is 
due  to  a  want  of  optical  continuity  in  the  varnish. 
Instead  of  being  a  coherent  layer  it  is  broken  up  into 
particles  of  microscopic  smallness,  which  virtually  con- 
stitute a  turbid  medium  and  send  blue  light  to  the 
eye. 

Goethe  himself  describes  a  most  amusing  illustra- 
tion, or,  to  use  his  own  language,  '  a  wonderful  pheno- 
menon,' due  to  the  temporary  action  of  a  turbid  medium 
on  a  picture.  '  A  portrait  of  an  esteemed  theologian  was 
painted  several  years  ago  by  an  artist  specially  skilled 
in  the  treatment  of  colours.  The  man  stood  forth  in 
his  dignity  clad  in  a  beautiful  bLck  velvet  coat,  which 
attracted  the  eyes  and  awakened  the  admiration  of  the 
beholder  almost  more  than  the  face  itself.  Through 
the  action  of  humidity  and  dust,  however,  the  picture 
had  lost  much  of  its  original  splendour.  It  was  there- 
fore handed  over  to  a  painter  to  be  cleaned,  and  newly 
varnished.  The  painter  began  by  carefully  passing  a 
wet  sponge  over  the  picture.  But  he  had  scarcely  thus 
removed  the  coarser  dirt,  when  to  his  astonishment  the 
black  velvet  suddenly  changed  into  a  light  blue  plush  : 
the  reverend  gentleman  acquiring  thereby  a  very  worldly, 
if,  at  the  same  time,  an  old-fashioned  appearance.  The 
painter  would  not  trust  himself  to  wash  further.  He 
could  by  no  means  see  how  a  bright  blue  could  under- 
lie a  dark  black,  still  less  that  he  could  have  so  rapidly 


56  GOETHE'S  '  FARBENLEHRE.' 

washed  away  a  coating  capable  of  converting  a  blue 
like  that  before  him  into  the  black  of  the  original 
painting.' 

Groethe  inspected  the  picture,  saw  the  phenomenon, 
and  explained  it.  To  deepen  the  hue  of  the  velvet  coat 
the  painter  had  covered  it  with  a  special  varnish,  which, 
by  absorbing  part  of  the  water  passed  over  it,  was  con- 
verted into  a  turbid  medium,  through  which  the  black 
behind  instantly  appeared  as  blue.  To  the  great  joy 
of  the  painter,  he  found  that  a  few  hours'  continuance 
in  a  dry  place  restored  the  primitive  black.  By  the 
evaporation  of  the  moisture  the  optical  continuity  of 
the  varnish  (to  which  essential  point  Goethe  does  not 
refer)  was  re-established,  after  which  it  ceased  to  act  as 
a  turbid  medium. 

This  question  of  turbid  media  took  entire  possession 
of  the  poet's  mind.  It  was  ever  present  to  his  observa- 
tion. It  was  illustrated  by  the  azure  of  noonday,  and 
by  the  daffodil  and  crimson  of  the  evening  sky.  The 
illimitable  lines  written  at  Ilmenau — 

Ueber  alien  Gipfeln 

1st  Rub', 

In  alien  Wipfeln 

Sparest  Du 

Kaum  einen  Hauch — 

suggest  a  stillness  of  the  atmosphere  which  would  allow 
the  columns  of  fine  smoke  from  the  foresters'  cottages 
to  rise  high  into  the  air.  He  would  thus  have  an 
opportunity  of  seeing  the  upper  portion  of  the  column 
projected  against  bright  clouds,  and  the  lower  portion 
against  dark  pines,  the  brownish  yellow  of  the  one,  and 
the  blue  of  the  other,  being  strikingly  and  at  once 
revealed.  He  was  able  to  produce  artificially  at  will 
the  colours  which  he  had  previously  observed  in  nature. 


GOETHE'S  '  FARBENLEHRE.1  57 

lie  noticed  that  when  certain  bodies  were  incorporated 
with  glass  this  substance  also  played  a  double  part, 
appearing  blue  by  reflected  and  yellow  by  transmitted 
light.1 

The  action  of  turbid  media  was  to  Goethe  the  ulti- 
mate fact — the  Urphanomen — of  the  world  of  colours* 
*  We  see  on  the  one  side  Light  and  on  the  other  side 
Darkness.  We  bring  between  both  Turbidity,  and 
from  these  opposites  develop  all  colours.'  As  long  as 
Goethe  remains  in  the  region  of  fact  his  observations 
are  of  permanent  value.  But  by  the  coercion  of  a 
powerful  imagination  he  forced  his  turbid  media  into 
regions  to  which  they  did  not  belong,  and  sought  to 
overthrow  by  their  agency  the  irrefragable  demonstra- 
tions of  Newton.  Newton's  theory,  as  known  by  every- 
body, is  that  white  light  is  composed  of  a  multitude  of 
differently  refrangible  rays,  whose  coalescence  produces 
the  impression  of  white.  By  prismatic  analysis  these 
rays  are  separated  from  each  other,  the  colour  of  each 
ray  being  strictly  determined  by  its  refrangibility.  The 
experiments  of  Newton,  whereby  he  sought  to  establish 
this  theory,  had  long  appealed  with  overmastering  evi- 
dence to  every  mind  trained  in  the  severities  of  physical 
investigation.  But  they  did  not  thus  appeal  to  Goethe. 
Accepting  for  the  most  part  the  experiments  of  Newton, 
he  rejected  with  indignation  the  conclusions  drawn  from 
them,  and  turned  into  utter  ridicule  the  notion  that 
white  light  possessed  the  composite  character  ascribed 
to  it.  Many  of  the  naturalists  of  his  time  supported 
him,  while  among  philosophers  Schelling  and  Hegel 
shouted  in  acclamation  over  the  supposed  defeat  of 
Newton.  The  physicists,  however,  gave  the  poet  no 
countenance.  Goethe  met  their  scorn  with  scorn,  and 

1  Beautiful  and  instructive  samples  of  such  glass  are  to  be  seen 
in  the  Venice  Glass  Company's  shop,  No.  30  St.  James's  Street. 


58  GOETHE'S  'FARBENLEHRE.' 

under  his  lash  these  deniers  of  his  theory,  their  Master 
included,  paid  the  penalty  of  their  arrogance. 

How,  then,  did  he  lay  down  the  lines  of  his  own 
theory  ?  How,  out  of  such  meagre  elements  as  his 
yellow,  and  his  blue,  and  his  turbid  medium,  did  he 
extract  the  amazing  variety  and  richness  of  the  New- 
tonian spectrum  ?  Here  we  must  walk  circumspectly, 
for  the  intellectual  atmosphere  with  which  Groe^he  sur- 
rounds himself  is  by  no  means  free  from  turbidity.  In 
trying  to  account  for  his  position,  we  must  make  our- 
selves acquainted  with  his  salient  facts,  and  endeavour  to 
place  our  minds  in  sympathy  with  his  mode  of  regard- 
ing them.  He  found  that  he  could  intensify  the  yellow 
of  his  transmitted  light  by  making  the  turbidity  of  his 
medium  stronger.  A  single  sheet  of  diaphanous  parch- 
ment placed  over  a  hole  in  his  window-shutter  appeared 
whitish.  Two  sheets  appeared  yellow,  which  by  the 
addition  of  other  sheets  could  be  converted  into  red.  It 
is  quite  true  that  by  simply  sending  it. through  a  me- 
dium charged  with  extremely  minute  particles  we  can 
extract  from  white  light  a  ruby  red.  The  red  of  the 
London  sun,  of  which  we  have  had  such  fine  and  fre- 
quent examples  during  the  late  winter,  is  a  case  to 
some  extent  in  point.  Groethe  did  not  believe  in  New- 
ton's differently  refrangible  rays.  He  refused  to  enter- 
tain the  notion  that  the  red  light  obtained  by  the 
employment  of  several  sheets  of  parchment  was  different 
in  quality  from  the  yellow  light  obtained  with  two. 
The  red,  according  to  him,  was  a  mere  intensification — 
'  Steigerung ' — of  the  yellow.  Colours  in  general  con- 
sisted, according  to  Goethe,  of  light  on  its  way  to 
darkness,  and  the  only  difference  between  yellow  and 
red  consisted  in  the  latter  being  nearer  than  the  former 
to  its  final  goal. 

But  how  in  the  production  of  the  spectrum  do  tur- 


GOETHE'S  '  tfAKBESLEHRE.'  59 

bid  media  come  into  play  ?  If  they  exist,  where  are 
they  ?  The  poet's  answer  to  this  question  is  subtle  in 
the  extreme.  He  wanders  round  the  answer  before  he 
touches  it,  indulging  in  various  considerations  regarding 
penumbrse  and  double  images,  with  the  apparent  aim  of 
breaking  down  the  repugnance  to  his  logic  which  the 
mind  of  his  reader  is  only  too  likely  to  entertain.  If 
you  place  A  white  card  near  the  surface  of  a  piece  of 
plate-glass,  and  look  obliquely  at  the  image  of  the 
card  reflected  from  the  two  surfaces,  you  observe  two 
images,  which  are  hazy  at  the  edges  and  more  dense 
and  defined  where  they  overlap.  These  hazy  edges 
Goethe  pressed  into  his  service  as  turbid  media.  He 
fancied  that  they  associated  themselves  indissolubly 
with  his  refracted  rectangles — that  in  every  case  the 
image  of  the  rectangle  was  accompanied  by  a  secondary 
hazy  image,  a  little  in  "advance  of  the  principal  one. 
At  one  edge,  he  contended,  the  advanced  secondary 
imnge  had  black  behind  it,  which  was  converted  into 
blue ;  while  at  the  other  edge  it  bad  white  behind  it, 
and  appeared  yellow.  When  the  refracted  rectangle  is 
made  very  narrow,  the  fringes  approach  each  other  and 
finally  overlap.  Blue  thus  mingles  with  yellow,  and 
the  green  of  the  spectrum  is  the  consequence.  This, 
in  a  nutshell,  is  the  theory  of  colours  develorei  in 
the  '  Farbenlehre.'  Goethe  obviously  regarded  the 
narrowing  of  the  rectangle,  of  the  cylindrical  beam,  or 
of  the  slit  from  which  the  light  passed  to  the  prism — 
according  to  Newton  the  indispensable  requisite  for  the 
production  of  a  pare  spectrum — as  an  impure  and 
complicated  mode  of  illustrating  the  phenomenon. 
The  elementary  fact  is,  according  to  Goethe,  obtained 
when  we  operate  with  a  wide  rectangle  the  edges  only 
of  which  are  coloured  by  refraction,  while  the  centre 
remains  white.  His  experiments  with  the  parchment 


60  aOETHE'S   '  FAEBENLEHEE.1 

had  made  him  acquainted  with  the  passage  of  yellow 
into  red  as  he  multiplied  his  layers  ;  but  how  this  pas- 
sage occurs  in  the  spectrum  he  does  not  explain.  That, 
however,  his  hazy  surfaces — his  virtual  turbid  media. — 
produced,  in  some  way  or  other,  the  observed  passage 
and  intensification,  Goethe  held  as  firmly,  and  enun- 
ciated as  confidently,  as  if  his  analysis  of  the  phenomena 
had  been  complete. 

The  fact  is,  that  between  double  images  and  turbid 
media  there  is  no  kinship  whatever.  -Turbidity  is  due 
to  the  diffusion,  in  a  transparent  medium,  of  minute 
particles  having  a  refractive  index  different  from  that 
of  the  medium.  But  the  act  of  reflection,  which  pro- 
duced the  penumbral  surfaces,  whose  aid  Goethe  in- 
voked, did  not  charge  them  with  such  discrete  particles. 
On  various  former  occasions  I  have  tried  to  set  forth 
the  principles  on  which  the  chromatic  action  of  turbid 
media  depends.  When  such  media  are  to  be  seen  blue, 
the  light  scattered  by  the  diffused  particles,  and  that 
only,  ought  to  reach  the  eye.  This  feeble  light  may 
be  compared  to  a  faint  whisper  which  is  easily  rendered 
inaudible  by  a  louder  noise.  The  scattered  light  of  the 
particles  is  accordingly  overpowered,  when  a  stronger 
light  comes,  not  from  the  particles,  but  from. a  bright 
surface  behind  them.  Here  the  light  reaches  the  eye, 
minus  that  scattered  by  the  particles.  It  is  therefore 
the  complementary  light,  or  yellow.  Both  effects  are 
immediately  deducible  from  the  principles  of  the  un- 
dulatory  theory.  As  a  stone  in  water  throws  back  a 
larger  fraction  of  a  ripple  than  of  a  larger  wave,  so  do 
the  excessively  minute  particles  which  produce  the 
turbidity  scatter  more  copiously  the  small  waves  of  the 
spectrum  than  the  large  ones.  Light  scattered  by  such 
particles  will  therefore  always  contain  a  preponderance 
of  the  waves  which  produce  the  sensation  of  blue. 


GOETHE'S  '  FARBENLEHEE.'  61 

During  its  transmission  through  the  turbid  medium 
ihe  white  light  is  more  and  more  robbed  of  its  blue 
constituents,  the  transmitted  light  which  reaches  the 
eye  being  therefore  complementary  to  the  blue. 

Some  of  you  are,  no  doubt,  aware  that  it  is  possible 
to  take  matter  in  the  gaseous  condition,  when  its 
smallest  parts  are  molecules,  incapable  of  being  either 
seen  themselves  or  of  scattering  any  sensible  portion 
of  light  which  impinges  on  them  ;  that  it  is  possible 
to  shake  these  molecules  asunder  by  special  light- 
waves, so  that  their  liberated  constituents  shall  coalesce 
anew  and  form,  not  molecules,  but  particles ;  that  it 
is  po=sible  to  cause  these  particles  to  grow,  from  a  size 
bordering  on  the  atomic,  to  a  size  which  enables  them 
to  copiously  scatter  light.  Some  of  you  are  aware  that 
in  the  early  stages  of  their  growth,  when  they  are  still 
beyond  the  grasp  of  the  microscope,  such  particles,  no 
matter  what  the  substance  may  be  of  which  they  are 
composed,  shed  forth  a  pure  firmamental  blue  ;  and  that 
from  them  we  can  manufacture  in  the  laboratory 
artificial  skies  which  display  all  the  phenomena,  both 
of  colour  and  polarisation,  of  the  real  firmament. 

With  regard  to  the  production  of  the  green  of 
the  spectrum  by  the  overlapping  of  yellow  and  blue, 
Goethe,  like  a  multitude  of  others,  confounded  the 
mixture  of  blue  and  yellow  lights  with  that  of  blue 
and  yellow  pigments.  This  was  an  error  shared  by  the 
world  at  large.  But  in  Goethe's  own  day,  Wiinsch  of 
Leipzig,  who  is  ridiculed  in  the  '  Farbenlehre,'  had 
corrected  the  error,  and  proved  the  mixture  of  blue 
and  yellow  lights  to  produce  white.  Any  doubt  that 
might  be  entertained  of  Wiinsch's  experiments — and 
they  are  obviously  the  work  of  a  careful  and  compe- 
tent man — is  entirely  removed  by  the  experiments  of 
Helmholtz  and  others  in  our  own  day.  Thus,  to  sum 


62  GOETHE'S  '  FARBENLEHRE,' 

up,  Goethe's  theory,  if  such  it  may  be  called,  proves 
incompetent  to  account  even  approximately  for  the 
Newtonian  spectrum.  He  refers  it  to  turbid  media, 
but  no  such  media  come  into  play.  He  fails  to  account 
for  the  passage  of  yellow  into  red  and  of  blue  into 
violet ;  while  his  attempt  to  deduce  the  green  of  the 
spectrum  from  the  mixture  of  yellow  and  blue,  is 
contradicted  by  facts  which  were  extant  in  his  own 
time. 

One  hole  Goethe  did  find  in  Newton's  armour, 
through  which  his  lance  incessantly  worried  the  Eng- 
lishman. Newton  had  committed  himself  to  the  doc- 
trine that  refraction  without  colour  was  impossible. 
He  therefore  thought  that  the  object-glasses  of  tele- 
scopes must  for  ever  remain  imperfect,  achromatism 
and  refraction  being  incompatible.  The  inference  of 
Newton  was  proved  by  Dollond  to  be  wrong.1  With 
the  same  mean  refraction,  flint  glass  produces  a  longer 
and  richer  spectrum  than  crown  glass.  By  diminishing 
the  refracting  angle  of  the  flint-glass  prism,  its  spec- 
trum may  be  made  equal  in  length  to  that  of  the  crown 
glass.  Causing  two  such  prisms  to  refract  in  opposite 
directions,  the  colours  may  be  neutralised,  while  a  con- 
siderable residue  of  refraction  continues  in  favour  of 
the  crown.  Similar  combinations  are  possible  in  the 
case  of  lenses;  and  hence,  as  Dollond  showed,  the 
possibility  of  producing  a  compound  achromatic  lens. 
Here,  as  elsewhere,  Goethe  proves  himself  master  of 
the  experimental  conditions.  It  is  the  power  of  in- 
terpretation that  he  lacks.  He  flaunts  this  error  re- 
garding achromatism  incessantly  in  the  face  of  Newton 
and  his  followers.  But  the  error,  which  was  a  real  one, 

1  Dollond  was  the  son  of  a  Huguenot.     Up  to  1752  he  was  a 
silk  weaver  at  Spitalfields ;  he  afterwards  became  an  optician. 


GOETHE'S  '  FARBENLEHRE.'  63 

leaves  Newton's  theory  of  colours  perfectly  unim- 
paired. 

Newton's  account  of  his  first  experiment  with  the 
prism  is  for  ever  memorable.  '  To  perform  my  late 
promise  to  you,'  he  writes  to  Oldenburg,  '  I  shall  with- 
out further  ceremony  acquaint  you,  that  in  the  year 
lt)66  (at  which  time  I  applied  myself  to  the  grinding 
of  optick-glasses  of  other  figures  than  spherical)  I  pro- 
cured me  a  triangular  glass  prism,  to  try  therewith  the 
celebrated  phenomena  of  colours.  And  in  order  thereto, 
having  darkened  my  chamber,  and  made  a  small  hole 
in  my  window-shuts,  to  let  in  a  convenient  quantity  of 
the  sun's  light,  I  placed*  my  prism  at  its  entrance,  that 
it  might  be  thereby  refracted  to  the  opposite  wall.  It 
was  at  first  a  very  pleasing  divertisement,  to  view  the 
vivid  and  intense  colours  produced  thereby  ;  but  after 
a  while  applying  myself  to  consider  them  more  circum- 
spectly, I  became  surprised  to  see  them  in  an  oblong 
form,  which  according  to  the  received  laws  of  refrac- 
tions, I  expected  should  have  been  circular.  They  were 
terminated  at  the  sides  with  straight  lines,  but  at  the 
ends  the  decay  of  light  was  so  gradual,  that  it  was 
difficult  to  determine  justly  what  was  their  figure,  yet 
they  seemed  semi-circular. 

'  Comparing  the  length  of  this  coloured  spectrum 
with  its  breadth,  I  found  it  about  five  times  greater ;  a 
disproportion  so  extravagant,  that  it  excited  me  to  a 
more  than  ordinary  curiosity  of  examining  from  whence 
it  might  proceed.'  This  curiosity  Newton  gratified 
by  instituting  a  series  of  experimental  questions,  the 
answers  to  which  left  no  doubt  upon  his  mind  that  the 
elongation  of  his  spectrum  was  due  to  the  fact  '  that 
light  is  not  similar  or  homogeneal,  but  consists  of 
difforni  rays,  some  of  which  are  more  refrangible 
than  others ;  so  that,  without  any  difference  in  their 


64  GOETHE'S  '  FAKBENLEHRE.' 

incidence  on  the  same  medium,  some  shall  be  more 
refracted  than  others;  and  therefore  that,  according 
to  their  particular  degrees  of  refrangibility,  they  were 
transmitted  through  the  prism  to  divers  parts  of  the 
opposite  wall.  When,'  continues  Newton,  '  I  under- 
stood this,  I  left  off  my  aforesaid  glass  works ;  for  I 
saw  that  the  perfection  of  telescopes  was  hitherto 
limited,  not  so  much  for  want  of  glasses  truly  figured 
according  to  the  prescriptions  of  optick  authors,  as 
because  that  light  itself  is  an  heterogeneous  mixture  of 
differently  refrangible  rays ;  so  that  were  a  glass  so 
exactly  figured  as  to  collect  any  one  sort  of  rays  into 
one  point,  it  could  not  collect  those  also  into  the  same 
point,  which,  having  the  same  incidence  upon  the 
same  medium,  are  apt  to  suffer  a  different  refraction.' 

Goethe  harped  on  this  string  without  cessation. 
'  The  Newtonian  doctrine,'  he  says, '  was  really  dead  the 
moment  achromatism  was  discovered.  Gifted  men — 
our  own  Kliigel,  for  example — felt  this,  but  expressed 
themselves  in  an  undecided  way.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  school  which  had  been  long  accustomed  to  support, 
patch  up,  and  glue  their  intellects  to  the  views  of  Newton, 
had  surgeons  at  hand  to  embalm  the  corpse,  so  that  even 
after  death,  in  the  manner  of  the  Egyptians,  it  should 
preside  at  the  banquets  of  the  natural  philosophers.' 

In  dealing  with  the  chromatic  aberration  of  lenses, 
Goethe  proves  himself  to  be  less  heedful  than  usual  as 
an  experimenter.  With  the  clearest  perception  of 
principles,  Newton  had  taken  two  pieces  of  cardboard, 
the  one  coloured  a  deep  red,  the  other  a  deep  blue. 
Around  those  cards  he  had  wound  fine  black  silk,  so 
that  the  silk  formed  a  series  of  separate  fine  dark  lines 
upon  the  two  coloured  surfaces.  He  might  have  drawn 
black  lines  over  the  red  and  blue,  but  the  silk  lines 
were  finer  than  any  that  he  could  draw.  Illuminating 


GOETHE'S  '  FARBENLEHBE.'  65 

both  surfaces,  he  placed  a  lens  so  as  to  cast  an  image  of 
the  surfaces  upon  a  white  screen.  The  result  was,  that 
when  the  dark  lines  were  sharply  defined  upon  the  red, 
they  were  undefined  upon  the  blue  ;  and  that  when,  by 
moving  the  screen,  they  were  ren  lered  distinct  upon 
the  blue,  they  were  indistinct  upon  the  red.  A  distance 
of  an  inch  and  a  half  separated  the  focus  of  red  rays 
from  the  focus  of  blue  rays,  the  latter  being  nearer  to 
the  lens  than  the  former.  Goethe  appears  to  have 
attempted  a  repetition  of  this  experiment ;  at  all  events, 
he  flatly  contradicts  Newton,  ascribing  his  result  not 
to  the  testimony  of  his  bodily  eyes,  but  to  that  of  the 
prejudiced  eyes  of  his  mind.  Goethe  always  saw  the 
dark  lines  best  defined  upon  the  brighter  colour.  It 
was  to  him  purely  a  matter  of  contrast,  and  not  of 
different  refrangibility.  He  argues  caustically  that 
Newton  proves  too  much  ;  for  were  he  correct,  not  only 
would  a  dioptric  telescope  be  impossible,  but  when  pre- 
sented to  our  naked  eyes,  differently-coloured  objects 
must  appear  utterly  confusing.  Let  a  house,  he  says, 
be 'supposed  to  stand  in  full  sunshine  ;  let  the  roof-tiles 
be  red,  the  walls  yellow,  with  blue  curtains  behind  the 
open  windows,  while  a  lady  with  a  violet  dress  steps 
out  of  the  door.  Let  us  look  at  the  whole  from  a 
point  in  front  of  the  house.  The  tiles  we  will  suppose 
appear  distinct,  but  on  turning  to  the  lady  we  should 
find  both  the  form  and  the  folds  of  her  dress  undefined. 
We  must  move  forward  to  see  her  distinctly,  and  then 
the  red  tiles  would  appear  nebulous.  And  so  with 
regard  to  the  other  objects,  we  must  move  to  and  fro 
in  order  to  see  them  clearly,  if  Newton's  pretended 
second  experiment  were  correct.  Goethe  seems  to  have 
forgotten  that  the  human  eye  is  not  a  rigid  lens,  and 
that  it  is  able  to  adjust  itself  promptly  and  without 
difficulty  to  differences  of  distance  enormously  greater 


66  GOETHE'S   '  FARBENLEHRE.' 

than  that  due  to  the  different  refrangibility  of  the 
differently-coloured  rays. 

Newton's  theory  of  colours,  it  may  be  remarked,  is 
really  less  a  '  theory '  than  a  direct  presentation  of 
facts.  Given  the  accepted  definition  of  refraction,  it  is 
a  matter  of  fact,  and  not  of  theoretic  inference,  that 
white  light  is  not  *  homogeneal,'  but  composed  of  dif- 
ferently refrangible  rays.  The  demonstration  is  ocular 
and  complete.  Having  palpably  decomposed  the  white 
light  into  its  constituent  colours,  Newton  recom- 
pounded  these  colours  to  white  light.  Both  the  analysis 
and  the  synthesis  are  matters  of  fact.  The  so-called 
'  theory  of  light  and  colours '  is  in  this  respect  very 
different  from  the  corpuscular  theory  of  light.  New- 
ton's explanation  of  colour  stands  where  it  is,  whether 
we  accept  the  corpuscular  or  the  undulatory  theory ; 
and  it  stands  because  it  is  at  bottom,  not  a  theory,  but 
a  body  of  fact,  to  which  theory  must  bow  or  disappear. 
Newton  himself  pointed  out  that  his  views  of  colours 
were  entirely  independent  of  his  belief  in  the  '  cor- 
poreity '  of  light. 

After  refraction-colours,  Goethe  turns  to  those  pro- 
duced by  diffraction,  and,  as  far  as  the  phenomena  are 
concerned,  he  deals  very  exhaustively  with  the  colours 
of  thin  plates.  He  studies  the  colours  of  Newton's 
rings  both  by  reflected  and  transmitted  light.  He 
states  the  conditions  under  which  this  class  of  colours 
is  produced,  and  illustrates  the  conditions  by  special 
cases.  He  presses  together  flat  surfaces  of  glass,  ob- 
serves the  flaws  in  crystals  and  in  ice,  refers  to  the 
iridescences  of  oil  on  water,  to  those  of  soap-bubbles, 
and  to  the  varying  colours  of  tempered  steel.  He  is 
always  rich  in  facts.  But  when  he  comes  to  deal  with 
physical  theory,  the  poverty  and  confusion  of  his  other- 
wise transcendent  mind  become  conspicuous.  His  turbid 


GOETHE'S  '  FARBENLEHRE.'  67 

media  entangle  him  everywhere,  leading  him  captive 
and  committing  him  to  almost  incredible  delusions. 
The  colours  of  tempered  steel,  he  says,  and  kindred 
phenomena,  may  perhaps  be  quite  conveniently  deduced 
from  the  action  of  turbid  media.  Polished  steel  power- 
fully reflects  light,  and  the  colouring  produced  by 
heating  may  be  regarded  as  a  feeble  turbidity,  which, 
acted  upon  by  the  polished  surface  behind,  produces  a 
bright  yellow.  As  the  turbidity  augments,  this  colour 
becomes  dense,  until  finally  it  exhibits  an  intense 
ruby-red.  Supposing  this  colour  to  reach  its  greatest 
proximity  to  darkness,  the  turbidity  continuing  to 
augment  as  before,  we  shall  have  behind  the  turbid 
medium  a  dark  background,  against  which  we  have  first 
violet,  then  dark  blue,  and  finally  light  blue,  thus  com- 
pleting the  cycle  of  the  phenomena.  The  mind  that 
could  offer  such  an  explanation  as  this  must  be  quali- 
tatively different  from  that  of  the  natural  philosopher. 
The  words  'quite  conveniently  deduced,'  which  I 
have  italicised  in  the  last  paragraph,  are  also  used  by 
Goethe  in  another  place.  When  the  results  of  his  ex- 
periments on  prismatic  colours  had  to  be  condensed  into 
one  commanding  inference,  lie  enunciated  it  thus : — 
'  Und  so  lassen  sich  die  Farben  bei  Gelegenheit  der 
Refraction  aus  der  Lehre  von  den  triiben  Mitteln  gar 
bequem  ableiten.'  This  is  the  crown  of  his  edifice,  and  it 
seems  a  feeble  ending  to  so  much  preparation.  Kingsley 
once  suggested  to  Lewes  that  Goethe  might  have  had  a 
vague  feeling  that  his  conclusions  were  not  sound,  and 
that  he  felt  the  jealousy  incident  to  imperfect  con- 
viction. The  ring  of  conscious  demonstration,  as  it  is 
understood  by  the  man  of  science,  is  hardly  to  be  found 
in  the  words,  '  gar  bequem  ableiten.'  They  fall  flaccid 
upon  the  ear  in  comparison  with  the  mind-compelling 
Q.E.D.  of  Newton. 


68  GOETHE'S   '  FARBENLEHRE.' 

Throughout  the  first  350  pages  of  his  work,  wherein 
he  develops  and  expounds  his  own  theory,  Goethe 
restrains  himself  with  due  dignity.  Here  and  there 
there  is  a  rumble  of  discontent  against  Newton,  but 
there  is  no  sustained  ill-temper  or  denunciation.  After, 
however,  unfolding  his  own  views,  he  comes  to  what 
he  calls  the  *  unmasking  of  the  theory  of  Newton ' 
Here  Goethe  deliberately  forsakes  the  path  of  calm, 
objective  research,  and  delivers  himself  over  to  the 
guidance  of  his  emotions.  He  immediately  accuses 
Newton  of  misusing,  as  an  advocate,  his  method  of  expo- 
sition. He  goes  over  the  propositions  in  Newton's  optics 
one  by  one,  and  makes  even  the  individual  words  of 
the  propositions  the  objects  of  his  criticism.  He  passes 
on  to  Newton's  experimental  proofs,  invoking,  as  he  does 
so,  the  complete  attention  of  his  readers,  if  they  would 
be  freed  to  all  eternity  from  the  slavery  of  a  doctrine 
which  has  imposed  upon  the  world  for  a  hundred  years. 
It  might  be  thought  that  Goethe  had  given  himself  but 
little  trouble  to  understand  the  theorems  of  Newton 
and  the  experiments  on  which  they  were  based.  But 
it  would  be  unjust  to  charge  the  poet  with  any  want  of 
diligence  in  this  respect.  He  repeated  Newton's  experi- 
ments, and  in  almost  every  case  obtained  his  results. 
But  he  complained  of  their  incompleteness  and  lack  of 
logical  force.  What  appears  to  us  as  the  very  perfection 
of  Newton's  art,  and  absolutely  essential  to  the  purity 
of  the  experiments,  was  regarded  by  Goethe  as  needless 
complication  and  mere  torturing  of  the  light.  Ho 
spared  no  pains  in  making  himself  master  of  Newton's 
data,  but  he  lacked  the  power  of  penetrating  either 
their  particular  significance,  or  of  estimating  the  force 
and  value  of  experimental  evidence  generally. 

He  will  not,  he  says,  shock  his  readers  at  the  outset 
by  the  utterance  of  a  paradox,  but  he  cannot  withhold 


GOETHE'S  •  FARBENLEHRE;  69 

the  assertion  that  by  experiment  nothing  can  really  be 
proved.  Phenomena  may  be  observed  and  classified ; 
experiments  may  be  accurately  executed,  and  made  thus 
to  represent  a  certain  circle  of  human  knowledge ;  but 
deductions  must  be  drawn  by  every  man  for  himself. 
Opinions  of  things  belong  to  the  individual,  and  we 
know  only  too  well  that  conviction  does  not  depend  upon 
insight  but  upon  will — that  man  can  only  assimilate 
that  which  is  in  accordance  with  his  nature,  and  to 
which  he  can  yield  assent.  In  knowledge,  as  in  action, 
says  Goethe,  prejudice  decides  all,  and  prejudice,  as  its 
name  indicates,  is  judgment  prior  to  investigation.  It 
is  an  affirmation  or  a  negation  of  what  corresponds  or 
is  opposed  to  our  own  nature.  It  is  the  cheerful  activity 
of  our  living  being  in  its  pursuit  of  truth  or  of  false- 
hood, as  the  case  may  be — of  all,  in  short,  with  which 
we  feel  ourselves  to  be  in  harmony. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  Groethe,  in  thus  philoso- 
phising, dipped  his  bucket  into  the  well  of  profound 
self-knowledge.  He  was  obviously  stung  to  the  quick 
by  the  neglect  of  the  physicists.  He  had  been  the  idol 
of  the  world,  and  accustomed  as  he  was  to  the  incente 
of  praise,  he  felt  sorely  that  any  class  of  men  should 
treat  what  he  thought  important  with  indifference  or 
contempt.  He  had,  it  must  be  admitted,  some  ground 
for  scepticism  as  to  the  rectitude  of  scientific  judgments, 
seeing  that  his  researches  on  morphology  met  at  first 
no  response,  though  they  were  afterwards  lauded  by 
scientific  men.  His  anger  against  Newton  incorporates 
itself  in  sharp  and  bitter  sarcasm.  Through  the  whole 
of  Newton's  experiments,  lie  says,  there  runs  a  display 
of  pedantic  accuracy  ;  but  how  the  matter  really  stands 
with  Newton's  gift  of  observation,  and  with  his  experi- 
mental aptitudes,  every  man  possessing  eyes  and  senses 
may  make  himself  aware.  Where,  it  may  be  boldly 


70  GOETHE'S  '  FARBENLEHEE.' 

asked,  can  the  man  be  found,  possessing  the  extra- 
ordinary gifts  of  Newton,  who  could  suffer  himself  to 
be  deluded  by  such  a  hocus  pocus,  if  he  had  not  in  the 
first  instance  wilfully  deceived  himself?  Only  those 
who  know  the  strength  of  self-deception,  and  the  extent 
to  which  it  sometimes  trenches  on  dishonesty,  are  in  a 
condition  to  explain  the  conduct  of  Newton  and  of 
Newton's  school.  '  To  support  his  unnatural  theory,'  he 
continues,  'Newton  heaps  experiment  on  experiment, 
fiction  upon  fiction,  seeking  to  dazzle  where  he  cannot 
convince.' 

It  may  be  that  Goethe  is  correct  in  affirming  that 
the  will  and  prejudice  of  the  individual  are  all-influential. 
We  must,  however,  add  the  qualifying  words,  '  as  far  as 
the  individual  is  concerned.'  For  in  science  there  exists, 
apart  from  the  individual,  objective  truth ;  and  the  fate 
of  Goethe's  own  theory,  though  commended  to  us  by 
so  great  a  name,  illustrates  how,  in  the  progress  of 
humanity,  the  individual,  if  he  err,  is  left  stranded  and 
forgotten — truth,  independent  of  the  individual,  being 
more  and  more  grafted  on  to  that  tree  of  knowledge 
which  is  the  property  of  the  human  race. 

The  imagined  ruin  of  Newton's  theory  did  not 
satisfy  Goethe's  desire  for  completeness.  He  would 
explore  the  ground  of  Newton's  error,  and  show  how  it 
was  that  one  so  highly  gifted  could  employ  his  gifts  for 
the  enunciation  and  diffusion  of  such  unmitigated 
nonsense.  It  was  impossible  to  solve  the  riddle  on 
purely  intellectual  grounds.  Scientific  enigmas,  he 
says,  are  often  only  capable  of  ethical  solution,  ana 
with  this  maxim  in  his  mind  he  applies  himself,  in  the 
second  volume  of  the  '  Farbenlehre,'  to  the  examination 
of  '  Newton's  Personlichkeit.'  He  seeks  to  connect  him 
with,  or  rather  to  detach  him  from,  the  general  character 
of  the  English  nation — that  sturdy  and  competent  race, 


GOETHE'S  '  FARBENLEHRE/  71 

which  prizes  above  all  things  the  freedom  of  individual 
action.  Newton  was  born  in  a  storm-tossed  time — none 
indeed  more  pregnant  in  the  history  of  the  world.  He 
was  a  year  old  when  Charles  I.  was  beheaded,  and  he 
lived  to  see  the  first  George  upon  the  throne.  The 
shock  of  parties  was  in  his  ears ;  changes  of  Ministries, 
Parliaments,  and  armies  were  occurring  before  his  eyes, 
while  the  throne  itself,  instead  of  passing  on  by  inherit- 
ance, was  taken  possession  of  by  a  stranger.  What, 
asks  Goethe,  are  we  to  think  of  a  man  who  could  put 
aside  the  claims,  seductions,  and  passions  incident  to 
such  a  time,  for  the  purpose  of  tranquilly  following  out 
his  bias  as  an  investigator  ? 

So  singular  a  character  arrests  the  poet's  attention. 
Goethe  had  laid  down  his  theory  of  colours,  he  must  add 
to  it  a  theory  of  Newton.  The  great  German  is  here 
at  home,  and  Newton  could  probably  no  more  have  gone 
into  these  disquisitions  regarding  character,  than  Goethe 
could  have  developed  the  physical  theories  of  Newton. 
He  prefaces  his  sketch  of  his  rival's  character  by  reflec- 
tions and  considerations  regarding  character  in  general. 
Every  living  thing,  down  to  the  worm  that  wriggles 
when  trod  upon,  has  a  character  of  its  own.  In  this 
sense  even  the  weak  and  cowardly  have  characters,  for 
they  will  give  up  the  honour  and  fame  which  most  men 
prize  highest,  so  that  they  may  vegetate  in  safety  and 
comfort.  But  the  word  character  is  usually  applied  to 
the  case  of  an  individual  with  great  qualities,  who 
pursues  his  object  undeviatingly,  and  without  permit- 
ting either  difficulty  or  danger  to  deflect  him  from  his 
course. 

4  Although  here,  as  in  other  cases,' says  Goethe,*  it  is 
the  Exuberant  (Ueberschwtingliche)  that  impresses  the 
imagination,  it  must  not  be  imagined  that  this  attribute 
has  anything  to  do  with  moral  feeling.  The  maia 


72  GOETHE'S  '  FARBENLEHRE.' 

foundation  of  the  moral  law  is  a  good  will  *  which,  in 
accordance  with  its  own  nature,  is  anxious  only  for  the 
right.  The  main  foundation  of  character  is  a  strong 
will,  without  reference  to  right  or  wrong,  good  or  bad, 
truth  or  error.  It  is  that  quality  which  every  Party 
prizes  in  its  members.  A  good  will  cherishes  freedom, 
it  has  reference  to  the  inner  man  and  to  ethical  aims. 
The  strong  will  belongs  to  Nature  and  has  reference  to 
the  outer  world — to  action.  And  inasmuch  as  the 
strong  will  in  this  world  is  swayed  and  limited  by  the 
conditions  of  life,  it  may  almost  be  assumed  as  certain 
that  it  is  only  by  accident  that  the  exercise  of  a  strong 
will  and  of  moral  rectitude  find  themselves  in  harmony 
with  each  other.'  In  determining  Newton's  position  in 
the  series  of  human  characters,  Goethe  helps  himself  to 
images  borrowed  from  the  physical  cohesion  of  matter. 
Thus,  he  says,  we  have  strong,  firm,  compact,  elastic, 
flexible,  rigid  or  obstinate,  and  viscous  characters. 
Newton's  character  he  places  under  the  head  of  rigid  or 
obstinate,  and  his  theory  of  colours  Goethe  pronounces 
to  be  a  petrified  aperpu. 

Newton's  assertion  of  his  theory,  and  his  unwavering 
adherence  to  it  to  the  end  of  his  life,  Goethe  ascribes 
straight  off  to  moral  obliquity  on  Newton's  part.  In 
the  heat  of  our  discussion,  he  says,  we  have  even  ascribed 
to  him  a  certain  dishonesty.  Man  is  subject  to  error, 
but  when  errors  form  a  series,  which  is  followed  pertina- 
ciously, the  erring  individual  becomes  false  to  himself 
and  to  others.  Nevertheless  reason  and  conscience 
will  not  yield  their  rights.  We  may  belie  them,  but 
they  are  not  deceived.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that 
the  more  moral  and  rational  a  man  is,  the  greater 

1  I  have  rendered  Goethe's  'gute  Wille  '  by  good  will;  liie 
•  Wollcn,'  which  he  contrasts  with  '  Wille,'  I  have  rendered  hyttrong 
will. 


GOETHE'S   '  FAKBENLEHKE.'  73 

will  be  his  tendency  to  lie  when  he  falls  into  error,  and 
the  vaster  will  be  that  error  when  he  makes  up  his  mind 
to  persist  in  it. 

This  is  all  intended  to  throw  light  upon  Newton. 
When  Groethe  passes  from  Newton  himself  to  his  followers, 
the  small  amount  of  reserve  which  he  exhibited  when 
dealing  with  the  master  entirely  disappears.  He  mocks 
their  blunders  as  having  not  even  the  merit  of  originality. 
He  heaps  scorn  on  Newton's  imitators.  The  expression 
of  even  a  truth,  he  says,  loses  grace  in  repetition,  while 
the  repetition  of  a  blunder  is  impertinent  and  ridiculous. 
To  liberate  oneself  from  an  error  is  difficult,  sometimes 
indeed  impossible  for  even  the  strongest  and  most  gifted 
minds.  But  to  take  up  the  error  of  another,  and  persist 
in  it  with  stififnecked  obstinacy,  is  a  proof  of  poor 
qualities.  The  obstinacy  of  a  man  of  originality  when 
he  errs  may  make  us  angry,  but  the  stupidity  of  the 
copyist  irritates  and  renders  us  miserable.  And  if  in 
our  strife  with  Newton  we  have  sometimes  passed  the 
bounds  of  moderation,  the  whole  blame  is  to  be  laid 
upon  the  school  of  which  Newton  was  the  head,  whose 
incompetence  is  proportional  to  its  arrogance,  whose 
laziness  is  proportional  to  its  self-sufficiency,  and  whose 
virulence  and  love  of  persecution  hold  each  other  in 
perfect  equilibrium. 

There  is  a  great  deal  more  invective  of  this  kind, 
but  you  will  probably,  and  not  without  sadness,  con- 
sider this  enough.  Invective  may  be  a  sharp  weapon, 
but  over-use  blunts  its  edge.  Even  when  the  denuncia- 
tion is  just  and  true,  it  is  an  error  of  art  to  indulge  in 
it  too  long.  We  not  only  incur  the  risk  of  becoming 
vapid,  but  of  actually  inverting  the  force  of  reproba- 
tion which  we  seek  to  arouse,  and  of  bringing  it  back 
by  recoil  upon  ourselves.  At  suitable  intervals,  sepa- 
rated from  each  other  by  periods  of  dignified  reserve, 


74  GOETHE'S  '  FAKBENLEHRE/ 

invective  may  become  a  real  power  of  the  tongue  or 
pen.  But  indulged  in  constantly  it  degenerates  into 
scolding,  and  then,  instead  of  being  regarded  as  a  proof 
of  strength,  it  is  accepted,  even  in  the  case  of  a  Groethe, 
as  an  evidence  of  weakness  and  lack  of  self-control. 

If  it  were  possible  to  receive  upon  a  mirror  Goethe's 
ethical  image  of  Newton  and  to  reflect  it  back  upon  its 
author,  then,  as  regards  vehement  persistence  in  wrong 
thinking,  the  image  would  accurately  coincide  with 
Groethe  himself.  It  may  be  said  that  we  can  only  solve 
the  character  of  another  by  the  observation  of  our  own. 
This  is  true,  but  in  the  portraiture  of  character  we  are 
not  at  liberty  to  mix  together  subject  and  object  as 
Groethe  mixed  himself- with  Newton.  So  much  for  the 
purely  ethical  picture.  On  the  scientific  side  some- 
thing more  is  to  be  said.  I  do  not  know  whether 
psychologists  have  sufficiently  taken  into  account  that, 
as  regards  intellectual  endowment,  vast  wealth  may  co- 
exist with  extreme  poverty.  I  do  not  mean  to  give 
utterance  here  to  the  truism  that  the  field  of  culture  is 
so  large  that  the  most  gifted  can  master  only  a  portion 
of  it.  This  would  be  the  case  supposing  the  individual 
at  starting  to  be,  as  regards  natural  capacity  and  poten- 
tiality, rounded  like  a  sphere.  Something  more  radical 
is  here  referred  to.  There  are  individuals  who  at 
starting  are  not  spheres,  but  hemispheres  ;  or,  at  least, 
spheres  with  a  segment  sliced  away — full-orbed  on  one 
side,  but  flat  upon  the  other.  Such  incompleteness  of 
the  mental  organisation  no  education  can  repair.  Now 
the  field  of  science  is  sufficiently  large,  and  its  studies 
sufficiently  varied,  to  bring  to  light  in  the  same  indi- 
vidual antitheses  of  endowment  like  that  here  indicated. 

So  far  as  science  is  a  work  of  ordering  and  classifi- 
cation, so  far  as  it  consists  in  the  discovery  of  analogies 
and  resemblances  which  escape  the  common  eye — of 


GOETHE'S   '  FAKBENLEHRE.'  75 

the  fundamental  identity  which  often  exists  among 
apparently  diverse  and  unrelated  things — so  far,  in 
short,  as  it  is  observational,  descriptive,  and  imagi- 
native, Goethe,  had  he  chosen  to  make  his  culture  ex- 
clusively scientific,  might  have  been  without  a  master, 
perhaps  even  without  a  rival.  The  instincts  and  ca- 
pacities of  the  poet  lend  themselves  freely  to  the 
natural-history  sciences.  But  when  we  have  to  deal 
with  stringently  physical  and  mechanical  conceptions, 
such  instincts  and  capacities  are  out  of  place.  It  was 
in  this  region  of  mechanical  conceptions  that  Goethe 
failed.  It  was  on  this  side  that  his  sphere  of  endow- 
ment was  sliced  away.  He  probably  was  not  the  only 
great  man  who  possessed  a  spirit  thus  antithetically 
mixed.  Aristotle  himself  was  a  mighty  classifier,  but 
not  a  stringent  physical  reasoner.  And  had  Newton 
attempted  to  produce  a  Faust,  the  poverty  of  his  in- 
tellect on  the  poetic  and  dramatic  side  might  have  been 
rendered  equally  manifest.  But  here,  if  not  always, 
Newton  abstained  from  attempting  that  for  which  he 
had  no  gift,  while  the  exuberance  of  Goethe's  nature 
caused  him  to  undertake  a  task  for  which  he  had 
neither  ordination  nor  vocation,  and  in  the  attempted 
execution  of  which  his  deficiencies  became  revealed. 

One  task  among  many — one  defeat  amid  a  hundred 
triumphs.  But  any  recognition  on  my  part  of  Goethe's 
achievements  in  other  realms  of  intellectual  action 
would  justly  be  regarded  as  impertinent.  You  re- 
member the  story  of  the  first  Napoleon  when  the 
Austrian  plenipotentiary,  in  arranging  a  treaty  of  peace, 
began  by  formally  recognising  the  French  Republic. 
4  Efface  that,'  said  the  First  Consul ;  '  the  French  Re- 
public is  like  the  sun  ;  he  is  blind  who  fails  to  recog- 
nise it.'  And  were  I  to  speak  of  recognising  Goetlr 
merits,  my  effacement  would  be  equally  well  deser 
6 


76  GOETHE'S  '  FARBENLEHEE,' 

'  Groethe's  life,'  says  Carlyle,  '  if  we  examine  it,  is  well 
represented  in  that  emblem  of  a  solar  day.  Beautifully 
rose  our  summer  sun,  gorgeous  in  the  red,  fervid  east, 
scattering  the  spectres  and  sickly  damps,  of  both  of 
which  there  were  enough  to  scatter ;  strong,  benignant, 
in  his  noonday  clearness,  walking  triumphant  through 
the  upper  realms — and  now  mark  also  how  he  sets  I 
"  So  stirbt  ein  Held  ; "  so  dies  a  hero ! ' 

Two  grander  illustrations  of  the  aphorism  *  To  err 
is  human '  can  hardly  be  pointed  out  in  history  than 
Newton  and  Goethe.  For  Newton  went  astray,  not 
only  as  regards  the  question  of  achromatism,  but  also 
as  regards  vastly  larger  questions  touching  the  nature 
of  light.  But  though  as  errors  they  fall  into  the  same 
category,  the  mistake  of  Newton  was  qualitatively  dif- 
ferent from  that  of  Goethe.  Newton  erred  in  adopting 
a  wrong  mechanical  conception  in  his  theory  of  light, 
but  in  doing  so  he  never  for  a  moment  quitted  the 
ground  of  strict  scientific  method.  Goethe  erred  in 
seeking  to  engraft  in  bis  '  Farbenlehre '  methods  alto- 
gether foreign  to  physics  or  to  the  treatment  of  a 
purely  physical  theme. 

We  frequently  hear  protests  made  against  the  cold 
mechanical  mode  of  dealing  with  aesthetic  phenomena 
employed  by  scientific  men.  The  dissection  by  Newton 
of  the  light  to  which  the  world  owes  all  its  visible 
splendour  seemed  to  Goethe  a  desecration.  We  find, 
even  in  our  own  clay,  the  endeavour  of  Helmholtz  to 
arrive  at  the  principles  of  harmony  and  discord  in 
music  resented  as  an  intrusion  of  the  scientific  intel- 
lect into  a  region  which  ought  to  be  sacred  to  the 
human  heart.  But  all  this  opposition  and  antago- 
nism has  for  its  essential  cause  the  incompleteness 

those  with  whom  it  originates.  The  feelings  and 
1  s  with  which  Newton  and  Goethe  respectively  ap- 


GOETHE'S  '  FARBENLEHKE;  77 

preached  Nature  were  radically  different,  but  they 
had  an  equal  warrant  in  the  constitution  of  man.  As 
regards  our  tastes  and  tendencies,  our  pleasures  and 
pain?,  physical  and  mental,  our  action  and  passion,  our 
sorrows,  sympathies,  and  joys,  we  are  the  heirs  of  all 
the  ages  that  preceded  us ;  and  of  the  human  nature 
thus  handed  down  poetry  is  an  element  just  as  much 
as  science.  The  emotions  of  man  are  older  than  his 
understanding,  and  the  poet  who  brightens,  purifies, 
and  exalts  these  emotions  may  claim  a  position  in  the 
world  at  least  as  high  and  as  well  assured  as  that  of 
the  man  of  ?cience.  They  minister  to  different  but  to 
equally  permanent  needs  of  human  nature ;  and  the 
incompleteness  of  which  I  complain  consists  in  the 
endeavour  on  the  part  of  either  to  exclude  the  other. 
There  is  no  fear  that  the  man  of  science  can  ever 
destroy  the  glory  of  the  lilies  of  the  field  ;  there  is  no 
hope  that  the  poet  can  ever  successfully  contend  against 
our  right  to  examine,  in  accordance  with  scientific 
method,  the  agent  to  which  the  lily  owes  its  glory. 
There  is  no  necessary  encroachment  of  the  one  field 
upon  the  ot!;er.  Nature  embraces  them  both,  and 
man,  when  he  ia  complete,  will  exhibit  as  large  a 
toleration. 


1882. 

ATOMS,  MOLECULES,  AND  ETHER  WAVES.1 

MAN  is  prone  to  idealisation.  He  cannot  accept  as 
final  the  phenomena  of  the  sensible  world,  but  looks 
behind  that  world  into  another  which  rules  the  sensible 
one.  From  this  tendency  of  the  human  mind  systems 
ofmytbology  and  scientific  theories  have  equally  sprung. 
By  the  former  the  experiences  of  volition,  passion, 
power,  and  design,  manifested  among  ourselves,  were 
transplanted,  with  the  necessary  modifications,  into  an 
unseen  universe,  from  which  the  sway  and  potency  of 
these  magnified  human  qualities  were  exerted.  *  In 
the  roar  of  thunder  and  in  the  violence  of  the  storm 
was  felt  the  presence  of  a  shouter  and  furious  strikers, 
and  out  of  the  rain  was  created  an  Indra  or  giver  of 
rain.'  It  is  substantially  the  same  with  science,  the 
principal  force  of  which  is  expended  in  endeavouring 
to  rend  the  veil  which  separates  the  sensible  world 
from  an  ultra-sensible  one.  In  botli  cases  our  materials, 
drawn  from  the  world  of  the  senses,  are  modified  by 
the  imagination  to  suit  intellectual  needs.  The  'first 
beginnings '  of  Lucretius  were  not  objects  of  sense,  but 
they  were  suggested  and  illustrated  by  objects  of  sense. 
The  idea  of  atoms  proved  an  early  want  on  the  part  of 
minds  in  pursuit  of  the  knowledge  of  Nature.  It  has 

1  Written   at   Alp  Lusgen   for   the  first  number  of  Lonyman'i 
Magazine. 


ATOMS,  MOLECULES,  AND   ETHER  WAVES.          79 

never  been  relinquished,  and  in  our  own  day  it  is  grow- 
ing steadily  in  power  and  precision. 

The  union  of  bodies  in  fixed  and  multiple  propor- 
tions constitutes  the  basis  of  modern  atomic  theory. 
The  same  compound  retains,  for  ever,  the  same  elements, 
in  an  unalterable  ratio.  We  cannot  produce  pure 
water  containing  one  part,  by  weight,  of  hydrogen  and 
nine  of  oxygen  ;  nor  can  we  produce  it  when  the  ratio 
is  one  to  ten  ;  but  we  can  produce  it  from  the  ratio  of 
one  to  eight,  and  from  no  other.  So,  also,  when  water 
is  decomposed  by  the  electric  current,  the  proportion, 
as  regards  volumes,  is  as  fixed  as  in  the  case  of  weights. 
Two  volumes  of  hydrogen  and  one  of  oxygen  invariably 
go  to  the  formation  of  water.  Number  and  harmony, 
as  in  the  Pythagorean  system,  are  everywhere  dominant 
in  this  under-world. 

Following  the  discovery  of  fixed  proportions  we 
have  that  of  multiple  proportions.  For  the  same  com- 
pound, as  above  stated,  the  elementary  factors  are  con- 
stant ;  but  one  elementary  body  often  unites  with 
another  so  as  to  form  different  compounds.  Water, 
for  example,  is  an  oxide  of  hydrogen  ;  but  a  peroxide 
of  that  substance  also  exists,  containing  exactly  double 
the  quantity  of  oxygen.  Nitrogen  also  unites  with 
oxygen  in  various  ratios,  but  not  in  all.  The  union 
takes  place,  not  gradually  and  uniformly,  but  by  steps, 
a  definite  weight  of  matter  being  added  at  each  step. 
The  larger  combining  quantities  of  oxygen  are  thus 
multiples  of  the  smaller  ones.  It  is  the  same  with 
other  combinations. 

We  remain  thus  far  in  the  region  of  fact :  why  not 
rest  there  ?  It  might  as  well  be  asked  why  we  do  not, 
like  our  poor  relations  of  the  woods  and  forests,  rest 
content  with  the  facts  of  the  sensible  world.  In  virtue 
of  our  mental  idiosyncrasy,  we  demand  why  bodies 


80  ATOMS,  MOLECULES, 

should  combine  in  multiple  proportions,  and  the  out- 
come and  answer  of  this  question  is  the  atomic  theory. 
The  definite  weights  of  matter  above  referred  to 
represent  the  weights  of  atoms,  indivisible  by  any  force 
which  chemistry  has  hitherto  brought  to  bear  upon 
them.  If  matter  were  a  continuum — if  it  were  not 
rounded  off,  so  to  say,  into  these  discrete  atomic  masses 
— the  impassable  breaches  of  continuity  which  the  law 
of  multiple  proportions  reveals  could  not  be  accounted 
for.  These  atoms  are  what  Maxwell  finely  calls  'the 
foundation-stones  of  the  material  universe,'  which,  amid 
the  wreck  of  composite  matter,  l  remain  unbroken  and 
unworn.' 

A  group  of  atoms  drawn  and  held  together  by  what 
chemists  term  affinity,  is  called  a  molecule.  Tlie 
ultimate  parts  of  all  compound  bodies  are  molecules. 
A  molecule  of  water,  for  example,  consists  of  two  atoms 
of  hydrogen,  which  grasp  and  are  grasped  by  one  atom 
of  oxygen.  When  water  is  converted  into  steam,  the 
distances  between  the  molecules  are  greatly  augmented, 
but  the  molecules  themselves  continue  intact.  We 
must  not,  however,  picture  the  constituent  atoms  of 
any  molecule  as  held  so  rigidly  together  as  to  render 
intestine  motion  impossible.  The  interlocked  atoms 
have  still  liberty  of  vibration,  which  may,  under  certain 
circumstances,  become  so  intense  as  to  shake  the 
molecule  asunder.  Most  molecules — probably  all — are 
wrecked  by  intense  heat,  or  in  other  words  by  intense 
vibratory  motion  ;  and  many  are  wrecked  by  a  very 
moderate  heat  of  the  proper  quality.  Indeed,  a  weak 
force  which  bears  a  suitable  relation  to  the  constitution 
of  the  molecule  can,  by  timely  savings  and  accumula- 
tions, accomplish  what  a  strong  force  out  of  such  rela- 
tion fails  to  achieve. 

We  have  here  a  glimpse  of  the  world  in  which  the 


AND   ETHER  WAVES.  81 

physical  philosopher  for  the  most  part  resides.  Science 
has  been  defined  as  '  organised  common  sense,'  by  whom 
I  have  forgotten;  but,  unless  we  stretch  unduly  the 
definition  of  common  sense,  I  think  it  is  hardly  applica- 
ble to  this  world  of  molecules.  I  should  be  inclined  to 
ascribe  the  creation  of  that  world  to  inspiration,  rather 
than  to  what  is  currently  known  as  common  sense.  For 
Ihe  natural-history  sciences  the  definition  may  stand — 
but  hardly  for  the  physical  and  mathematical  sciences. 
The  sensation  of  light  is  produced  by  a  succession  of 
waves  which  strike  the  retina  in  periodic  intervals  ;  and 
such  waves,  impinging  on  the  molecules  of  bodies,  agitate 
their  constituent  atoms.  These  atoms  are  so  small 
and,  when  grouped  to  molecules,  are  so  tightly  clasped 
together,  that  they  are  capable  of  tremors  equal  in 
rapidity  to  those  of  light  and  radiant  heat.  To  a  mind 
coming  freshly  to  these  subjects,  the  numbers  with 
which  scientific  men  here  habitually  deal  must  appear 
utterly  fantastical;  and  yet,  to  minds  trained  in  the 
logic  of  science,  they  express  most  sober  and  certain 
truth.  The  constituent  atoms  of  molecules  can  vibrate 
to  and  fro  millions  of  millions  of  times  in  a  second. 
The  waves  of  light  and  of  radiant  heat  follow  each  other 
at  similar  rates  through  the  luminiferous  ether.  Fur- 
ther, the  atoms  of  different  molecules  are  held  together 
with  vai-ying  degrees  of  tightness — they  are  tuned,  as  it 
were,  to  notes  of  different  pitch.  Suppose,  then,  light- 
waves, or  heat-waves,  to  impinge  upon  an  assemblage 
of  such  molecules,  what  may  be  expected  to  occur? 
The  same  as  what  occurs  when  a  piano  is  opened  and 
sung  into.  The  waves  of  sound  select  the  strings  which 
respectively  respond  to  them — the  strings,  that  is  to 
eay,  whose  rates  of  vibration  are  the  same  as  their  own. 
Of  the  whole  series  of  strings  these  only  sound.  The 
vibratory  motion  of  the  voice,  imparted  first  to  the 


82  ATOMS,  MOLECULES, 

air,  is  taken  up  by  the  strings.  It  may  be  regarded 
as  absorbed,  each  string  constituting  itself  thereby 
a  new  centre  of  motion.  Thus  also  as  regards  the 
tightly-locked  atoms  of  molecules  on  which  waves  of 
light  or  radiant  heat  impinge.  Like  the  waves  of 
sound  just  adverted  to,  the  waves  of  ether  select  those 
atoms  whose  periods  of  vibration  synchronise  with  their 
own  periods  of  recurrence,  and  to  such  atoms  they 
deliver  up  their  motion.  It  is  thus  that  light  and 
radiant  heat  are  absorbed. 

And  here  the  statement,  though  elementary,  must 
not  be  omitted,  that  the  colours  of  the  prismatic  spec- 
trum, which  are  presented  in  an  impure  form  in  the 
rainbow,  are  due  to  different  rates  of  atomic  vibration 
in  their  source,  the  sun.  From  the  extreme  red  to  the 
extreme  violet,  between  which  are  embraced  all  colours 
visible  to  the  human  eye,  the  rapidity  of  vibration 
steadily  increases,  the  length  of  the  waves  of  ether  pro- 
duced by  these  vibrations  diminishing  in  the  same  pro- 
portion. I  say  '  visible  to  the  human  eye,'  because 
there  may  be  eyes  capable  of  receiving  visual  impression 
from  waves  which  do  not  affect  ours.  There  is  a  vast 
store  of  rays,  or  more  correctly  waves,  beyond  the  red, 
and  also  beyond  the  violet,  which  are  incompetent  to 
excite  our  vision  ;  so  that  could  the  whole  length  of  the 
spectrum,  visible  and  invisible,  be  seen  by  the  same  eye, 
its  length  would  be  vastly  augmented. 

I  have  spoken  of  molecules  being  wrecked  by  a 
moderate  amount  of  heat  of  the  proper  quality :  let  us 
examine  this  point  for  a  moment.  There  is  a  liquid 
called  nitrite  of  amyl — frequently  administered  to 
patients  suffering  from  heart  disease.  The  liquid  is 
volatile,  and  its  vapour  is  usually  inhaled  by  the  patient. 
Let  a  quantity  of  this  vapour  be  introduced  into  a  wide 
glass  tube,  and  let  a  concentrated  beam  of  solar  light 


AND  ETHER  WAVES.  83 

be  sent  through  the  tube  along  its  axis.  Prior  to  the 
entry  of  the  beam,  the  vapour  is  as  invisible  as  the 
purest  air.  When  the  light  enters,  a  bright  cloud  is 
immediately  precipitated  on  the  beam.  This  is  entirely 
due  to  the  waves  of  light,  which  wreck  the  nitrite  of 
amyl  molecules,  the  products  of  decomposition  forming 
innumerable  liquid  particles,  which  constitute  the  cloud. 
Many  other  gases  and  vapours  are  acted  upon  in  a 
similar  manner.  Now  the  waves  that  produce  this  de- 
composition are  by  no  means  the  most  powerful  of  those 
emitted  by  the  sun.  It  is,  for  example,  possible  to 
gather  up  the  ultra-red  waves  into  a  concentrated  beam, 
and  to  send  it  through  the  vapour,  like  a  beam  of  light. 
But  though  possessing  vastly  greater  energy  than  the 
light  waves,  they  fail  to  produce  decomposition.  Hence 
the  justification  of  the  statement  already  made,  that  a 
suitable  relation  must  subsist  between  the  molecules 
and  the  waves  of  ether  to  render  the  latter  effectual. 

A  very  impressive  illustration  of  the  decomposing 
power  of  the  waves  of  light  is  here  purposely  chosen ; 
but  the  processes  of  photography  illustrate  the  same  prin- 
ciple. The  photographer,  without  fear,  illuminates  his 
developing- room  with  light  transmitted  through  red  or 
yellow  glass;  but  he  dares  not  use  blue  glass,  for  blue  light 
would  decompose  his  chemicals.  And  yet  the  waves  of 
red  light,  measured  by  the  amount  of  energy  which 
they  carry,  are  immensely  more  powerful  than  the 
waves  of  blue.  The  blue  rays  are  usually  called  che- 
mical rays — a  misleading  term ;  for,  as  Draper  and 
others  have  taught  us,  the  rays  that  produce  the 
grandest  chemical  effects  in  Nature,  by  decomposing 
the  carbonic  acid  and  water  which  form  the  nutriment 
of  plants,  are  not  the  blue  ones.  In  regard,  however, 
to  the  salts  of  silver,  and  many  other  compounds,  the 
blue  rays  are  the  most  effectual.  How  is  it,  then,  that 


84  ATOMS,  MOLECULES, 

weak  waves  can  produce  effects  which  strong  waves  are 
incompetent  to  produce  ?  This  is  a  feature  character- 
istic of  periodic  motion.  In  the  experiment  of  singing 
into  an  open  piano  already  referred  to,  it  is  the  accord 
subsisting  between  the  vibrations  of  the  voice  and  those  of 
the  string  that  causes  the  latter  to  sound.  Were  this 
accord  absent,  the  intensity  of  the  voice  might  be  quin- 
tupled, without  producing  any  response.  But  when 
voice  and  string  are  identical  in  pitch,  the  successive 
impulses  add  themselves  together,  and  this  addition 
renders  them  in  the  aggregate  powerful,  though  in- 
dividually they  may  be  weak.  In  some  such  fashion 
the  periodic  strokes  of  the  smaller  ether  waves  accumu- 
late, till  the  atoms  on  which  their  timed  impulses  im- 
pinge are  jerked  asunder,  and  what  we  call  chemical 
decomposition  ensues. 

Savart  was  the  first  to  show  the  influence  of  musical 
Bounds  upon  liquid  jets,  and  I  have  now  to  describe  an 
experiment  belonging  to  this  class,  which  bears  upon 
the  present  question.  From  a  screw-tap  in  my  little 
Alpine  kitchen  I  permitted,  an  hour  ago,  a  vein  of  water 
to  descend  into  a  trough,  so  arranging  the  flow  that  the 
jet  was  steady  and  continuous  from  top  to  bottom.  A 
slight  diminution  of  the  orifice  caused  the  continuous 
portion  of  the  vein  to  shorten,  the  part  further  down 
resolving  itself  into  drops.  In  my  experiment  how- 
ever the  vein,  before  it  broke,  was  intersected  by  the 
bottom  of  the  trough.  Shouting  near  the  descending 
jet  produced  no  sensible  effect  upon  it.  The  higher 
notes  of  the  voice,  however  powerful,  were  also  ineffec- 
tual. But  when  the  voice  was  lowered  to  about  130 
vibrations  a  second,  the  feeblest  utterance  of  this  note 
sufficed  to  shorten,  by  one-half,  the  continuous  portion 
of  the  jet.  The  responsive  drops  ran  along  the  vein 
pattered  against  the  trough,  and  scattered  a  copious 


AND   ETHER   WAVES.  85 

spray  round  their  place  of  impact.  When  the  note 
ceased,  the  continuity  and  steadiness  of  the  vein  were 
immediately  restored.  The  formation  of  the  drops 
was  here  f >eriodic ;  and  when  the  vibrations  of  the  note 
accurately  synchronised  with  the  periods  of  the  drops, 
the  waves  of  sound  aided  what  the  illustrious  Plateau 
proved  to  be  the  natural  tendency  of  the  liquid  cylinder 
to  resolve  itself  into  spherules,  and  virtually  decom- 
posed the  vein. 

I  have  stated,  without  proof,  that  where  absorption 
occurs  the  motion  of  the  ether-waves  is  taken  up  by 
the  constituent  atoms  of  molecules.  It  is  conceivable 
that  the  ether  waves,  in  passing  through  an  assemblage 
of  molecules,  might  deliver  up  their  motion  to  each 
molecule  as  a  whole,  leaving  the  relative  positions  of  the 
constituent  atoms  unchanged.  But  the  long  series  of 
reactions  represented  by  the  deportment  of  nitrite  of 
amyl  vapour  does  not  favour  this  conception  ;  for,  were 
the  atoms  animated  solely  by  a  common  motion,  the 
molecules  would  not  be  decomposed.  The  fact  of  de- 
composition, then,  goes  to  prove  the  atoms  to  be  the 
seat  of  the  absorption.  They,  in  great  part,  take  up 
the  energy  of  the  ether  waves,  whereby  their  union  is 
Fevered,  and  the  building-materials  of  the  molecules  are 
scattered  abroad. 

Molecules  differ  in  stability  ;  some  of  them,  though 
hit  by  waves  of  considerable  force,  and  taking  up  the 
motions  of  these  waves,  nevertheless  hold  their  own  with 
a  tenacity  which  defies  decomposition.  And  here,  in 
passing,  I  may  say  that  it  would  give  me  extreme 
pleasure  to  be  able  to  point  to  my  researches  in  con- 
firmation of  the  solar  theory  recently  enunciated  by  my 
friend  the  President  of  the  British  Association.  But 
though  the  experiments  which  I  have  made  on  the  de- 
composition of  vapours  by  light  might  be  numbered  bj 


86  ATOMS,   MOLECULES, 

the  thousand,  I  have,  to  my  regret,  encountered  no  fact 
which  proves  that  free  aqueous  vapour  is  decomposed  by 
the  solar  rays,  or  that  the  sun  is  nourished  by  the  re- 
combination of  gases,  in  the  severance  of  which  it  had 
previously  sacrificed  its  heat. 

The  memorable  investigations  of  Leslie  and  Rum- 
ford,  and  the  subsequent  classical  researches  of  Melloni 
and  Knoblauch,  dealt,  in  the  main,  with  the  properties 
of  radiant  heat ;  while,  in  my  investigations,  radiant 
heat,  instead  of  being  regarded  as  an  end,  was  employed 
as  a  means  of  exploring  molecular  condition.  On  this 
score  little  could  be  said  until  the  gaseous  form  of 
matter  was  brought  under  the  dominion  of  experiment. 
This  was  first  effected  in  1859,  when  it  was  proved  that 
gases  and  vapours,  notwithstanding  the  open  door  which 
the  distances  between  their  molecules  might  be  supposed 
to  offer  to  the  heat  waves,  were,  in  many  cases,  able  effec- 
tually to  bar  their  passage.  It  was  then  proved  that 
while  the  elementary  gases  and  their  mixtures,  including 
among  the  latter  the  earth's  atmosphere,  were  almost  as 
pervious  as  a  vacuum  to  ordinary  radiant  heat,  the 
compound  gases  were  one  and  all  absorbers,  some  of 
them  indeed  taking  up  with  intense  avidity  the  motion 
of  the  ether  waves. 

A  single  illustration  will  here  suffice.  Let  a  mix- 
ture of  hydrogen  and  nitrogen  in  the  proportion  of  three 
to  fourteen  by  weight  be  enclosed  in  a  space  through 
which  are  passing  the  heat-rays  from  an  ordinary  stove. 
The  gaseous  mixture  offers  no  measurable  impediment 
to  the  rays  of  heat.  Let  the  hydrogen  and  nitrogen 
now  unite  to  form  the  compound  ammonia.  A  magical 
change  instantly  occurs.  The  number  of  atoms  present 
remains  unchanged.  The  transparency  of  the  com- 
pound is  quite  equal  to  that  of  the  mixture  prior  to 


AND  ETHER  WAVES.  87 

combination.  No  change  is  perceptible  to  the  eye,  but 
the  keen  vision  of  experiment  soon  detects  the  fact 
that  the  perfectly  transparent  and  highly  attenuated 
ammonia  resembles  pitch  or  lampblack  in  its  behaviour 
to  the  rays  of  obscure  heat. 

There  is  probably  boldness,  if  not  rashness,  in  the 
attempt  to  make  these  ultra-sensible  actions  generally 
intelligible,  and  I  may  have  already  transgressed  the 
limits  beyond  which  the  writer  of  a  familiar  article 
cannot  profitably  go.  There  may,  however,  be  a  rem- 
nant of  readers  willing  to  accompany  me,  and  for  their 
sakes  I  proceed.  A  hundred  compounds  might  be 
named  which,  like  the  ammonia,  are  transparent  to 
light  but  more  or  less  opaque — often,  indeed,  intensely 
opaque — to  the  rays  of  heat  from  obscure  sources.  Now 
the  difference  between  these  latter  rays  and  the  light- 
rays  is  purely  a  difference  of  period  of  vibration.  The 
vibrations  in  the  case  of  light  are  more  rapid,  and  the 
ether  waves  which  they  produce  are  shorter,  than  in 
the  case  of  obscure  heat.  Why  then  should  the  ultra- 
red  waves  be  intercepted  by  bodies  like  ammonia,  while 
the  more  rapidly  recurrent  waves  of  the  whole  visible 
spectrum  are  allowed  free  transmission  ?  The  answer  I 
hold  to  be  that,  by  the  act  of  chemical  combination, 
the  vibrations  of  the  constituent  atoms  of  the  mole- 
cules are  rendered  so  sluggish  as  to  synchronise  with 
the  motions  of  the  longer  waves.  They  resemble  loaded 
piano-strings,  or  slowly  descending  water-jets,  requiring 
notes  of  low  pitch  to  set  them  in  motion. 

The  influence  of  synchronism  between  the  '  radiant ' 
and  the  '  absorbent '  is  well  shown  by  the  behaviour  of 
carbonic  acid  gas.  To  the  complex  emission  from  our 
heated  stove,  carbonic  acid  would  be  one  of  the  most 
transparent  of  gases.  For  such  waves  olefiant  gas,  for  ex- 
ample, would  vastly  transcend  it  in  absorbing  power 


68  ATOMS,  MOLECULES, 

But  when  we  select  a  radiant  with  whose  waves  the 
atoms  of  carbonic  acid  are  in  accord,  the  case  is  entirely 
altered.  Such  a  radiant  is  found  in  a  carbonic  oxide 
flame,  where  the  radiating  body  is  really  hot  carbonic 
acid.  To  this  special  radiation  carbonic  acid  is  the 
most  opaque  of  gases. 

And  here  we  find  ourselves  face  to  face  with  a 
question  of  great  delicacy  and  importance.  Both  as  a 
radiator  and  as  an  absorber  carbonic  acid  is,  in  general, 
a  feeble  gas.  It  is  beaten  in  this  respect  by  chloride  of 
methyl,  ethylene,  ammonia,  sulphurous  acid,  nitrous 
oxide,  and  marsh  gas.  Compared  with  some  of  these 
gases,  its  behaviour  in  fact  approaches  that  of  ele- 
mentary bodies.  May  it  not  help  to  explain  their 
neutrality  ?  The  doctrine  is  now  very  generally  accepted 
that  atoms  of  the  same  kind  may,  like  atoms  of  different 
kinds,  group  themselves  to  molecules.  Affinity  exists 
between  hydrogen  and  hydrogen,  and  between  chlorine 
and  chlorine,  as  well  as  between  hydrogen  and  chlorine. 
\Ve  have  thus  homogeneous  molecules  as  well  as  hetero- 
geneous molecules,  and  the  neutrality  so  strikingly  ex~ 
hibited  by  the  elements  may  be  due  to  a  quality  of 
which  carbonic  acid  furnishes  a  partial  illustration. 
The  paired  atoms  of  the  elementary  molecules  may  be 
so  out  of  accord  with  the  periods  of  the  ultra-red  waves 
— the  vibrating  periods  of  these  atoms  may,  for  ex- 
ample, be  so  rapid — as  to  disqualify  them  both  from 
emitting  those  waves,  and  from  accepting  their  energy. 
This  would  practically  destroy  their  power,  both  as 
radiators  and  absorbers.  I  have  reason  to  know  that  by 
a  distinguished  authority  this  hypothesis  has  for  some 
time  been  entertained. 

We  must,  however,  refresh  ourselves  by  occasional 
contact  with  the  solid  ground  of  experiment,  and  an  in- 
teresting problem  now  lies  before  us  awaiting  experi- 


AND  ETHER  WAVES.  89 

mental  solution.  Suppose  200  men  to  be  scattered 
equably  throughout  the  length  of  Pall  Mall.  By  timely 
swerving  now  and  then  a  runner  from  St.  James's 
Palace  to  the  Athenseum  Club  might  be  able  to  get 
through  such  a  crowd  without  much  hindrance.  But 
supposing  the  men  to  close  up  so  as  to  form  a  dense 
file  crossing  Pall  Mall  from  north  to  south:  such  a 
barrier  might  seriously  impede,  or  entirely  stop,  the 
runner.  Instead  of  a  crowd  of  men,  let  us  imagine  a 
column  of  molecules  under  small  pressure,  thus  resem- 
bling the  sparsely-distributed  crowd.  Let  us  suppose 
the  column  to  shorten,  without  change  in  the  quantity 
of  matter,  until  the  molecules  are  so  squeezed  together 
as  to  resemble  the  closed  file  across  Pall  Mall.  During 
these  changes  of  density,  would  the  action  of  the  mole- 
cules upon  a  beam  of  heat  passing  among  them  re- 
semble the  action  of  the  crowd  upon  the  runner  ? 

We  must  answer  this  question  by  direct  experiment. 
To  form  our  molecular  crowd  we  place,  in  the  first  in- 
stance, a  gas  or  vapour  in  a  tube  38  inches  long,  the 
ends  of  which  are  closed  with  circular  windows,  air- 
tight, but  formed  of  a  substance  which  offers  little  or 
no  obstruction  to  the  calorific  waves.  Calling  the 
measured  value  of  a  heat-beam  passing  through  this 
tube,  when  empty,  100,  we  carefully  determine  the  pro- 
portionate part  of  this  total  absorbed  when  the  molecules 
are  in  the  tube.  We  then  gather  precisely  the  same 
number  of  molecules  into  a  column  10*8  inches  long,  the 
one  column  being  thus  three  and  a  half  times  the  other. 
In  this  case  also  we  determine  the  quantity  of  radiant 
heat  absorbed.  By  the  depression  of  a  barometric 
column,  we  can  easily  and  exactly  measure  out  the  pro- 
per quantities  of  the  gaseous  body.  It  is  obvious  that 
1  mercury  inch  of  vapour,  in  the  long  tube,  would 
represent  precisely  the  same  amount  of  matter — or  in 


90  ATOMS,  MOLECULES, 

other  words  the  same  number  of  molecules — as  3^ 
inches  in  the  short  one ;  while  2  inches  of  vapour  in 
the  long  tube  would  be  equivalent  to  7  inches  in  the 
short  one. 

The  experiments  have  been  made  with  the  vapours 
of  two  very  volatile  liquids,  namely,  sulphuric  ether 
and  hydride  of  amyl.  The  sources  of  radiant  heat  were, 
in  some  cases,  an  incandescent  lime  cylinder,  and  in 
others  a  spiral  of  platinum  wire  heated  to  bright  red- 
ness by  an  electric  current.  One  or  two  of  the  measure- 
ments will  suffice  for  the  purposes  of  illustration.  First, 
then,  as  regards  the  lime-light : — For  1  inch  of  pressure 
in  the  long  tube,  the  absorption  was  18'4  per  cent,  of 
the  total  beam ;  while  for  3-5  inches  of  pressure  in  the 
short  tube,  the  absorption  was  18'8  per  cent.,  or  almost 
exactly  the  same  as  the  former.  For  2  inches  pressure, 
moreover,  in  the  long  tube,  the  absorption  was  25-7  per 
cent. ;  while  for  7  inches,  in  the  short  tube,  it  was  25-6 
per  cent,  of  the  total  beam.  Thus  closely  do  the  ab- 
sorptions in  the  two  cases  run  together — thus  empha- 
tically do  the  molecules  assert  their  individuality.  As 
long  as  their  number  is  unaltered,  their  action  on 
radiant  heat  is  unchanged.  Passing  from  the  lime- 
light to  the  incandescent  spiral,  the  absorptions  of  the 
smaller  equivalent  quantities  in  the  two  tubes  were 
23-5  and  23-4  per  cent. ;  while  the  absorptions  of  the 
larger  equivalent  quantities  were  32-1  and  32*6  per 
cent,  respectively.  This  constancy  of  absorption,  when 
the  density  of  a  gas  or  vapour  is  varied,  I  have  called 
'  the  conservation  of  molecular  action.' 

But  it  may  be  urged  that  the  change  of  density  in 
these  experiments  has  not  been  carried  far  enough  to 
justify  the  enunciation  of  a  law  of  molecular  physics. 
The  condensation  into  less  than  one-third  of  the  space 
does  not,  it  may  be  said,  quite  represent  the  close  file 


AND  ETHER  WAVES.  91 

of  men  across  Pall  Mall.  Let  us  therefore  push  matters 
tu  extremes,  and  continue  the  condensation  till  the 
vapour  has  been  squeezed  into  a  liquid.  To  the  pure 
change  of  density  we  shall  then  have  added  the  change 
in  the  state  of  aggregation.  The  experiments  here 
are  more  easily  described  than  executed  ;  nevertheless, 
by  sufficient  training,  scrupulous  accuracy,  and  minute 
attention  to  details,  success  may  be  ensured.  Knowing 
the  respective  specific  gravities,  it  is  easy,  by  calcula- 
tion, to  determine  the  condensation  requisite  to  re- 
duce a  column  of  vapour  of  definite  density  and  length 
to  a  layer  of  liquid  of  de6nite  thickness.  Let  the 
vapour,  for  example,  be  that  of  sulphuric  ether,  and  let 
it  be  introduced  into  our  38-inch  tube  till  a  pressure  of 
7'2  inches  of  mercury  is  obtained.  Or  let  it  be  hydride 
of  amyl  of  the  same  length,  at  a  pressure  of  6-6 
inches.  Supposing  the  column  to  shorten,  the  vapour 
would  become  proportionally  denser,  and  would,  in 
each  case,  end  in  the  production  of  a  layer  of  liquid 
exactly  1  millimeter  in  thickness.1  Conversely,  a  layer 
of  liquid  ether,  or  of  hydride  of  amyl.  of  this  thickness, 
were  its  molecules  freed  from  the  thrall  of  cohesion, 
would  form  a  column  of  vapour  38  inches  long,  at  a 
pressure  of  7'2  inches  in  the  one  case,  and  of  6'6  inches 
in  the  other.  In  passing  through  the  liquid  layer,  a 
beam  of  heat  encounters  the  same  number  of  molecules 
as  in  passing  through  the  vapour  layer ;  and  our  prob- 
lem is  to  decide,  by  experiment,  whether,  in  both  cases, 
the  molecule  is  not  the  dominant  factor,  or  whether  its 
power  is  augumented,  diminished,  or  otherwise  over- 
ridden by  the  state  of  aggregation. 

Using  the  sources  of  heat  before-mentioned,  and 
employing  diathermanous  lenses,  or  silvered  mirrors,  to 
render  the  rays  from  those  sources  parallel,  the  absorp- 

1  The  millimeter  is  ^th  of  an  inch. 
7 


92  ATOMS,  MOLECULES, 

tion  of  radiant  heat  was  determined,  first  for  the  liquid 
layer,  and  then  for  its  equivalent  vaporous  layer.  As 
before,  a  representative  experiment  or  two  will  suffice  for 
illustration.  When  the  substance  was  sulphuric  ether, 
and  the  soilrce  of  radiant  heat  an  incandescent  platinum 
spiral,  the  absorption  by  the  column  of  vapour  was 
found  to  be  6 6 •?  per  cent,  of  the  total  beam.  The 
absorption  of  the  equivalent  liquid  layer  was  next  de- 
termined, and  found  to  be  67*2  per  cent.  Liquid  and 
vapour,  therefore,  differed  from  each  other  only  0*5  per 
cent. : — In  other  words,  they  were  practically  identical 
in  their  action.  The  radiation  from  the  lime-light  has 
a  greater  power  of  penetration  through  transparent 
substances  than  that  from  the  spiral.  In  the  emission 
from  both  of  these  sources  we  have  a  mixture  of  obscure 
and  luminous  rays ;  but  the  ratio  of  the  latter  to  the 
former,  in  the  lime-light,  is  greater  than  in  the  spiral ; 
and,  as  the  very  meaning  of  transparency  is  perviousness 
to  the  luminous  rays,  the  emission  in  which  these  rays 
are  predominant  must  pass  most  freely  through  trans- 
parent substances.  Increased  transmission  implies  dimi- 
nished absorption  ;  and,  accordingly,  the  respective  ab- 
sorptions of  ether  vapour  and  liquid  ether  when  the 
lime-light  was  used,  instead  of  being  66*7  and  67'2  per 
cent.,  were  found  to  be — 

Vapour    .        .        •        .    33'3  per  cent. 
Liquid     ....    33'3      „ 

no  difference  whatever  being  observed  between  the  two 
states  of  aggregation.  The  same  was  found  true  of 
hydride  of  amyl. 

This  constancy  and  continuity  of  the  action  exerted 
on  the  waves  of  heat  when  the  state  of  aggregation  is 
changed  I  have  called  'the  thermal  continuity  of 
liquids  and  vapours.'  It  is,  I  think,  the  strongest 


AND   ETHER  WAVES.  93 

illustration  hitherto  adduced  of  the  conservation  of 
molecular  action. 

Thus,  by  new  methods  of  search,  we  reach  a  result 
which  was  long  ?go  enunciated  on  other  grounds. 
Water  is  well  known  to  be  one  of  the  most  opaque  of 
liquids  to  the  waves  of  obscure  ht-at.  But  if  the  re- 
lation of  liquids  to  their  vapours  be  that  here  shadowed 
forth — if  in  both  cases  the  molecule  asserts  itself  to  be 
the  dominant  factor — then  the  dispersion  of  the  water 
of  our  seas  and  rivers  as  invisible  aqueous  vapour  in  our 
atmosphere,  does  not  annul  the  action  of  the  molecules 
on  solar  and  terrestrial  heat.  But  as  aqueous  vapour  is 
transparent — which,  as  before  explained,  means  pervious 
to  the  luminous  rays — and  as  the  emission  from  the  sun 
abounds  in  such  rays  while  from  the  earth's  emission 
they  are  wholly  absent,  the  vapour  screen  offers  a  far 
greater  hindrance  to  the  outflow  of  heat  from  the  earth 
towards  space  than  to  the  inflow  from  the  sun  towards 
the  earth.  The  elevation  of  our  planet's  temperature 
is  therefore  a  direct  consequence  of  the  existence  of 
aqueous  vapour  in  our  air.  Were  that  garment  re- 
moved, terrestrial  life  would  probably  perish  through 
the  consequent  refrigeration. 

I  have  thus  endeavoured  to  give  some  account  of 
recent  incursions  into  that  ultra-sensible  world — the 
world  of  the  *  scientific  imagination  ' — mentioned  at 
the  outset  of  this  paper.  Invited  by  my  publishers, 
with  whom  I  have  so  long  worked  in  harmony,  to  send 
some  contribution  to  the  first  number  of  their  new 
Magazine,  I  could  not  refuse  them  this  proof  of  my 
good- will. 

NOTE. — The  researches  glanced  at  in  the  foregoing  brief  article 
have  been  published  in  extenso  in  the  'Philosophical  Transactions.' 
I  would  invite  to  them  and  others,  in  their  correct  historical  sequence, 
the  attention  of  my  friend  Professor  Von  Hofmann. 


1883. 
COUNT  RUMFORD* 

ON  a  bright  calm  day  in  the  autumn  of  1872 — that 
portion  of  the  year  called,  I  believe,  in  America  the 
Indian  summer — I  made  a  pilgrimage  to  the  modest 
birthplace  of  Count  Rumford.  My  guide  on  the  occasion 
was  Dr.  George  Ellis  of  Boston,  and  a  more  competent 
guide  I  could  not  possibly  have  had.  To  Dr.  Ellis  the 
American  Academy  of  Arts  and  Sciences  had  committed 
the  task  of  writing  a  life  of  Rumford,  and  this  labour  of 
love  had  been  accomplished  in  1871,  a  year  prior  to  my 
visit  to  the  United  States.  In  regard  to  Rumford's 
personal  life,  Dr.  Ellis's  elaborate  volume  constitutes, 
if  I  may  so  speak,  the  quarry  out  of  which  the  building- 
materials  of  these  lectures  are  drawn.  The  life  of  such 
a  man,  however,  cannot  be  duly  taken  in  without 
reference  to  his  work,  and  the  publication  by  the 
American  Academy  of  Sciences  of  four  large  volumes  of 
Rumford's  essays  renders  the  task  of  dealing  with  his 
labours  lighter  than  it  would  have  been  had  his  writings 
been  suffered  to  remain  scattered  in  the  magazines, 
journals,  and  transactions  of  learned  societies  in  which 
they  originally  appeared. 

The  name  of  Count  Rumford  was  Benjamin  Thomp- 
eon.      For   thirty  years  he  was  the   contemporary   of 

1  From    a  short   course    of   lectures    delivered  in   the   Iloyal 

Institution 


COUNT  RUMFORD.  95 

another  Benjamin,  who  reached  a  level  of  fame  as  high  as 
his  own.  Benjamin  Franklin  and  Benjamin  Thompson 
were  born  within  twelve  miles  of  each  other,  and  for 
six  of  the  thirty  years  just  referred  to  the  one  lived  in 
England  and  the  other  in  France.  Still,  there  is  nothing 
to  show  that  they  ever  saw  each  other,  or  were  in  any 
way  acquainted  with  each  other,  or,  indeed,  felt  the 
least  interest  in  each  other.  As  regards  posthumous 
fame,  Eumford  has  fared  worse  than  Franklin.  For  ten, 
or  perhaps  a  hundred,  people  in  this  country  who  know 
something  of  the  career  of  the  one,  hardly  a  unit  is  to 
be  found  acquainted  with  the  career  of  the  other. 
Among  scientific  men,  however,  the  figure  of  Rumford 
presents  itself  with  singular  impressiveness  at  the 
present  day — a  result  mainly  due  to  the  establishment 
of  the  grand  scientific  generalisation  known  as  the 
Mechanical  Theory  of  Heat.  Boyle,  and  Hooke,  and 
Locke,  and  Leibnitz,  had  already  distinctly  ranged 
themselves  on  the  side  of  this  theory.  But  by  experi- 
ments conducted  on  a  scale  unexampled  at  the  time, 
and  by  reasonings,  founded  on  these  experiments,  of 
singular  force  and  penetration,  Rumford  has  made  him- 
self a  conspicuous  landmark  in  the  history  of  the  theory. 
His  inference  from  his  experiments  was  that  heat  is  a 
form  of  motion. 

The  town  of  Woburn,  connected  in  my  memory  with 
a  cultivated  companion,  with  genial  sunshine  and  the 
bright  colouring  of  American  trees,  is  nine  miles  distant 
from  the  city  of  Boston.  In  North  Woburn,  a  little  way 
off,  on  March  26, 1753,  Rumford  was  born.  He  came  of 
people  who  had  to  labour  for  their  livelihood,  who  tilled 
their  own  fields,  cut  their  own  timber  and  fuel,  worked 
at  their  varied  trades,  and  thus  maintained  the  in- 
dependence of  New  England  yeomen.  Thompson's 


96  COUNT  RUMFORD. 

father  died  when  he  was  two  years  old.  His  mothei 
married  again,  and  had  children  by  her  second  husband ; 
but  the  affection  between  her  and  her  firstborn  remained 
strong  and  unbroken.  The  arrangements  made  for  the 
maintenance  of  mother  and  son  throw  some  light  upon 
their  position.  She  was  to  have  the  use  of  one-half  of 
a  garden  ;  the  privilege  of  land  to  raise  beans  for  sauce; 
to  receive  within  a  specified  time  80  '  weight'  of  beef, 
8  bushels  of  rye,  2  bushels  of  malt,  and  2  barrels  of 
cider.  Finally,  she  had  the  right  of  gathering  apples 
to  bake,  and  a  further  allowance  of  three  bushels  of 
apples  every  year. 

The  fatherless  boy  had  been  placed  under  the  care 
of  a  guardian,  from  whom  his  stepfather,  Josiah  Pierce, 
received  a  weekly  allowance  of  two  shillings  and  five- 
pence  for  the  child's  maintenance.  Young  Thompson 
received  his  first  education  from  Mr.  John  Fowle,  a 
graduate  of  Harvard  College,  described  by  Dr.  Ellis  as 
*  an  accomplished  and  faithful  man.'  He  also  went  to 
a  school  at  Bj'field,  kept  by  a  relation  of  his  own.  At 
the  age  of  eleven  he  was  placed  for  a  time  under  the 
tuition  of  a  Mr.  Hill,  '  an  able  teacher  in  Medford,'  ad- 
joining Woburn.  The  lad's  mind  was  ever  active,  and 
his  invention  incessantly  exercised,  but  for  the  most 
part  on  subjects  apart  from  his  daily  work.  In  relation 
to  that  work  he  came  to  be  regarded  as  '  indolent, 
flighty,  and  unpromising.'  His  guardian  at  length 
thinking  it  advisable  to  change  his  vocation,  apprenticed 
him  in  October  1766  to  Mr.  John  Appleton,  of  Salem, 
an  importer  of  British  goods.  Here,  however,  instead 
of  wooing  customers  to  his  master's  counter,  he  occupied 
himself  with  tools  and  implements  hidden  beneath  it. 
He  is  reported  to  have  been  a  skilful  musician,  passion- 
ately fond  of  music  of  every  kind  ;  and  during  his  stay 
with  Mr.  Appleton,  whenever  he  could  do  so  without 


COUNT  EUMFOED.  97 

being  heard,  he  solaced  his  leisure  with  performances 
on  the  violin. 

By  the  Rev.  Thomas  Barnard,  minister  of  Salem, 
and  his  son,  young  Thompson  was  taught  algebra, 
geometry,  and  astronomy.  By  self-practice  he  became 
an  able  and  accurate  draughtsman.  He  did  not  escape 
that  last  infirmity  of  ingenious  minds — the  desire  to 
construct  a  perpetual  motion.  He  experimented  with 
fireworks,  and  was  once  seriously  burnt  by  the  unexpected 
ignition  of  his  materials.  His  inquisitiveness  is  illus- 
trated by  the  questions  put  to  his  friend  Mr.  Baldwin 
in  1769.  He  wishes  to  be  told  the  direction  pursued 
by  the  rays  of  light  under  certain  conditions ;  he  desires 
to  know  the  cause  of  the  change  of  colour  which  fire 
produces  in  clay.  '  Please,'  he  adds,  *  to  give  the  nature, 
essence,  beginning  of  existence,  and  rise  of  the  wind  in 
general,  with  the  whole  theory  thereof,  so  as  to  be  able 
to  answer  all  questions  relative  thereto.'  One  might 
suppose  him  to  be  preparing  for  a  competitive  examina- 
tion. He  grew  expert  in  drawing  caricatures,  a  spirited 
group  of  which  has  been  reproduced  by  Dr.  Ellis.  It 
is  called  a  Council  of  State,  and  embraces  a  jackass  with 
twelve  human  heads.  These  sketches  were  found  in  a 
mutilated  scrap-book,  which  also  contained  a  kind  of 
journal  of  bis  proceedings  in  1769.  He  mentions  a 
French  class  which  he  attended  in  the  evenings,  records 
the  purchase  of  a  certain  measure  of  black  cloth,  states 
his  debt  to  his  uncle,  Hiram  Thompson,  for  part  of  the 
rent  of  a  pew.  The  liabilities  thus  incurred  he  met  by 
cutting  and  carting  firewood.  Mixed  with  entries  such 
as  these  are  *  directions  for  the  backsword,'  in  which  the 
postures  of  the  combatants  are  defined  and  illustrated 
by  sketches.  The  scrap-book  also  contained  an  account 
of  the  expense  Howards  getting  an  electrical  machine.' 


98  COUNT  RUMFORD. 

Soon  afterwards  he  began  the  study  of  medicine  undei 
Dr.  John  Hay,  of  "Woburn. 

Thompson  kept  a  strict  account  of  his  debts  to  Dr. 
Hay,  crediting  him  with  such  things  as  leather  gloves,and 
Mrs.  Hay  with  knitting  him  a  pair  of  stockings.  These 
items  he  tacks  on  to  the  more  serious  cost  of  his  board, 
from  December  1770  to  June  1772,  at  forty  shillings, 
old  currency,  per  week,  amounting  to  1 561.  The  specie 
payments  of  Thompson  were  infinitesimal,  eight  of  them 
amounting  in  the  aggregate  to  '21.  His  further  forms 
of  payment  illustrate  the  habits  of  the  community  in 
which  he  dwelt.  Want  of  money  caused  them  to  fall 
back  upon  barter.  He  debited  Dr.  Hay  with  the  follow- 
ing items,  the  value  of  which  no  doubt  had  been  pre- 
viously agreed  upon  between  them : — *  To  ivory  for 
smoke  machine ;  parcels  of  butter,  coffee,  sugar,  and 
tea  ;  parcels  of  various  drugs,  camphor,  gum  benzoine, 
arsenic,  calomel,  and  rhubarb  ;  one-half  of  white  sheep- 
skin leather  ;  brass  wire  ;  white  oak  timber  ;  to  sundry 
lots  of  wood ;  to  other  lots  delivered  while  I  was  at 
Wilmington,  and  left  by  me  when  I  was  at  Wilmington 
the  last  time  ;  to  a  blue  Huzza  cloak,  bought  of  Zebe- 
diah  Wyman,  and  paid  for  by  fifteen  and  a  half  cords 
of  wood  ;  a  pair  of  knee  buckles ;  a  chirurgical  knife ; 
to  a  cittern,  and  to  the  time  I  have  been  absent  from 
your  house,  nineteen  weeks  at  forty  shillings  ;  and  for 
the  time  my  mother  washed  for  me.'  To  help  him, 
moreover,  to  eke  out  the  funds  necessary  for  the  pro- 
secution of  his  studies,  Thompson  tried  his  hand  from 
time  to  time  at  school-teaching. 

At  this  early  age — for  he  was  not  more  than  seven- 
teen— he  had  learnt  the  importance  of  order  in  the  dis- 
tribution of  his  time.  The  four-and-twenty  hours  of  a 
single  day  are  thus  spaced  out : — '  From  eleven  to  six, 
sleep.  Get  up  at  six  o'clock  and  wash  my  hands  and 


COUNT  RUMFORD.  99 

face.  From  six  to  eight,  exercise  one-half,  and  study 
one-half.  From  eight  to  ten,  breakfast,  attend  prayers, 
&c.  From  ten  to  twelve,  study  all  the  time.  From 
twelve  to  one,  dine,  &c.  From  one  to  four,  study  con- 
stantly. From  four  to  five,  relieve  my  mind  by  some  di- 
version or  exercise.  From  five  till  bedtime,  follow  what 
my  inclination  leads  me  to  ;  whether  it  be  to  go  abroad, 
or  stay  at  home  and  read  either  Anatomy,  Physic,  or 
Chemistry,  or  any  other  book  I  want  to  peruse.' 

In  1771  he  managed,  by  walking  daily  from  Woburn 
to  Cambridge  and  back,  a  distance  of  some  sixteen 
miles,  to  attend  the  lectures  on  natural  philosophy 
delivered  by  Professor  Winthrop  in  Harvard  College. 
This  privilege  was  secured  to  him  by  his  friend  Mr. 
Baldwin.  Thompson  had  taught  school  for  a  short  time 
at  Wilmington,  and  afterwards  for  six  weeks  and  three 
days  at  Bradford,  where  his  repute  rose  so  high  that 
he  received  a  call  to  Concord,  the  capital  of  New 
Hampshire.  The  Indian  name  of  Concord  was  Pena- 
cook.  In  1733  it  had  been  incorporated  as  a  town  in 
Essex  County,  Massachusetts.  Some  of  the  early 
settlers  had  come  from  the  English  Essex ;  and,  as 
regards  pronunciation,  they  carried  with  them  the  name 
of  the  English  Essex  town,  Romford,  of  brewery  cele- 
brity. They,  however,  changed  the  first  o  into  u,  call- 
ing the  American  town  Rumford.  Strife  had  occurred 
as  to  the  county  or  State  to  which  Rumford  belonged. 
But  the  matter  was  amicably  settled  at  last ;  and  to 
denote  the  subsequent  harmony,  the  name  was  changed 
from  Rumford  to  Concord.1  In  later  years,  when  hon- 

1  Not  to  be  confounded  with  the  Concord  rendered  famous  as 
the  dwelling-place  of  Emerson.  In  connection  with  the  foregoing 
subject  I  have  been  favoured  with  the  following  interesting  letter : — 
'  Addison  Lodge,  Barnes,  S.W. :  August  19. 

•  L>LA.>  6IU, — I  venture  to  proffer  a  remark  upon  a  detail  in  your 


100  COUNT   RUMFORD. 

ours  fell  thick  upon  him,  Rumford  was  made  a  Count 
of  the  Holy  Roman  Empire.  He  chose  for  his  title 
Count  Rumford,  in  memory  of  his  early  association  with 
Concord. 

4  When  Benjamin  Thompson  went  to  Concord  as  a 
teacher,  he  was  in  the  glory  of  his  youth,  not  having 
yet  reached  manhood.  His  friend  Baldwin  describes 
him  as  of  a  fine  manly  make  and  figure,  nearly  six  feet 
in  height,  of  handsome  features,  bright  blue  eyes,  and 
dark  auburn  hair.  He  had  the  manners  and  polish  of  a 
gentleman,  with  fascinating  ways  and  an  ability  to 

interesting  paper  upon  Count  Rumford.  My  apology  for  so  doing  is 
that  I  am  a  Romford  man,  and  that  I  think  you  may  care  for  the 
mere  crumb  of  information  I  possess  bearing  upon  the  spelling  and 
pronunciation  of  the  name  of  my  native  place. 

'  Romford  is  always  pronounced  R?/mford  by  Essex  folk.  When 
I  was  a  boy  it  was  spelled  almost  indifferently,  Romford  and  Rum- 
ford.  I  remember  that  the  post-mark  in  my  school-days  (some  fortj 
years  ago)  was  Ru-mford.  Norden's  map  of  Essex  (1599)  has  Rum- 
forde ;  and  on  Bowen's  map  (1 775)  the  spelling  is  the  same — Rum- 
ford.  The  registers  in  the  vestry  book,  from  1665  until  some  fifty 
years  ago,  give  Rumford.  So  that  I  think  it  safe  to  say  that  the 
traditional  spelling  and  pronunciation  with  the  Essex  settlers  at 
Concord  must  have  been  Rumford.  I  must,  however,  add— but  I 
fear  I  am  hardly  justified  in  troubling  you  with  so  long  a  note — 
that  the  o  occurs  in  two  Latin  entries  in  the  Register : — 

'  "  1664,  Baptizata  fuit  Anna  Baylie  filia  Hugonis  Cissor,  Romford." 
'  And  in  the  same  year  there  is  an  entry  of  a  burial  with  "  Rom- 
fordiae."  I  believe  it  was  the  Latinising  of  Rumford  that  modified 
the  vowel,  the  alteration  being  prompted  by  the  mistaken  notion  that 
the  etymology  of  the  place  was  Roman-ford.  That  the  Rum  is  Eng- 
lish (  =  broad)  is,  1  think,  hardly  open  to  question.  The  nearest  ford 
town  is  llford,  with  which  the  roomy  ford  contrasts.  Of  late  the 
sluggish  little  river  has  come  to  be  called  the  river  Rom.  This  is 
quite  a  novel  "  notion,"  and  is  quite  local. 

'  Thanking  you  for  the  pleasure  and  profit  I  have  derived  from 
reading  your  article, 

'  I  remain,  dear  Sir, 

'  Yours  very  faithfully, 

*HENKY  ATTWEU* 
•  I'rofessor  Tyndall,  F.R.S.,  &c.,  &c.,  &c.' 


COUNT  BUMFORD.  101 

make  himself  agreeable.'1  Thus  writes  his  biographer. 
In  Concord,  at  the  time  of  Thompson's  arrival,  dwelt 
the  widow  of  Colonel  Rolfe  with  her  infant  son.  Her 
husband  had  died  in  December  1771,  leaving  a  large 
estate  behind  him.  Thompson  was  indebted  to  Mrs. 
Eolfe's  father,  the  Rev.  Timothy  Walker,  minister  of 
Concord,  for  counsel,  and  to  her  brother  for  civility 
and  hospitality.  The  widow  and  the  teacher  met,  and 
their  meeting  was  a  prelude  to  their  marriage.  Rum- 
ford,  somewhat  ungallantly,  told  his  friend  Pictet  in 
after-years  that  she  married  him  rather  than  he  her. 
She  was  obviously  a  woman  of  decision.  As  soon  as 
they  were  engaged  an  old  curricle,  left  by  her  father, 
was  fished  up,  and,  therein  mounted,  she  carried 
Thompson  to  Boston,  and  committed  him  to  the  care 
of  the  tailor  and  hairdresser.  This  journey  involved  a 
drive  of  sixty  miles.  On  the  return  journey,  it  is  said, 
they  called  at  the  house  of  Thompson's  mother,  who 
when  she  saw  him  exclaimed,  '  Why,  Ben,  my  son,  how 
could  you  go  and  lay  out  all  your  winter's  earnings  in 
finery?'  Thompson  was  nineteen  when  he  married, 
his  wife  being  thirty-three. 

In  1772  he  became  acquainted  with  Governor  Went- 
wortli,  then  resident  at  Portsmouth.  On  the  13th  of 
November  there  was  a  grand  military  review  at  Dover, 
New  Hampshire,  ten  miles  from  Portsmouth,  at  which 
Thompson  was  present.  On  two  critical  occasions  in 
the  life  of  this  extraordinary  man  his  appearance  on 
horseback  apparently  determined  his  career.  As  he 
rode  among  the  soldiers  at  Dover,  his  figure  attracted 
the  attention  of  the  governor,  and  on  the  day  following 
he  was  the  great  man's  guest.  So  impressed  was 
Wentworth  with  his  conversation  that  he  at  once  made 
up  his  mind  to  attach  Thompson  to  the  public  service. 
1  Ellis,  p.  43. 


PTAT*  T»ACH«  . 

.,NTA  BARBARA.  CAUl»C*NI 


102  COUNT  KtTMFORD. 

To  secure  this  wise  end  he  adopted  unwise  means.  *  A 
vacancy  having  occurred  in  a  majorship  in  the  Second 
Provincial  JRegiment  of  New  Hampshire,  Governor 
Wentworth  at  once  commissioned  Thompson  to  fill  it.' 
Jealousy  and  enmity  naturally  followed  the  appoint- 
ment of  a  man  without  name  or  fame  in  the  army,  over 
the  heads  of  veterans  with  infinitely  stronger  claims. 
He  rapidly  became  a  favourite  with  the  governor,  and 
on  his  proposing,  soon  after  his  appointment,  to  make 
a  survey  of  the  White  Mountains,  Wentworth  not 
only  fell  in  with  the  idea,  but  promised,  if  his  public 
duties  permitted,  to  take  part  in  the  survey  himself. 
It  will  be  remembered  that  at  this  time  Thompson 
was  not  quite  twenty  years  old. 

For  a  moment,  in  1773,  he  appears  in  the  character 
of  a  farmer,  and  invokes  the  aid  of  a  friend  to  procure 
for  him  supplies  of  grass  and  garden  seeds  from  Eng- 
land. But  amid  preoccupations  of  this  kind  his 
scientific  bias  emerges.  After  a  brief  reference  to  the 
seed  procured  for  him  by  his  friend  Baldwin,  he  pro- 
poses to  the  latter  the  following  question :  *  A  certain 
cistern  has  three  brass  cocks,  one  of  which  will  empty 
it  in  fifteen  minutes,  one  in  thirty  minutes,  and  the 
other  in  sixty  minutes.  Qu.  How  long  would  it  take 
to  empty  the  cistern  if  all  three  cocks  were  to  be 
opened  at  once  ?  If  you  are  fond  of  a  correspondence 
of  this  kind,  and  will  favour  me  with  an  easy  question, 
arithmetical  or  algebraical,  I  will  endeavour  to  give  as 
good  an  account  of  it  as  possible.  If  you  find  out  an 
answer  to  the  above  immediately,  I  hope  you  will 
not  take  as  an  affront  my  proposing  anything  which 
you  may  think  so  easy,  for  I  must  confess  I  scarce  ever 
met  with  any  little  notion  that  puzzled  me  so  much  in 
my  life.' 

In   1774  the  ferment  of  discontent  with  the  legisla- 


COUNT  RUMFORD.  103 

tion  of  the  mother  country  had  spread  throughout  the 
colony.  Clubs  and  committees  were  formed  which  often 
compelled  men  to  take  sides  before  the  requisite  data 
for  forming  a  clear  judgment  had  been  obtained. 
'  Our  candour,'  says  Dr.  Ellis,  *  must  persuade  us  to 
allow  that  there  were  reasons,  or  at  least  prejudices  and 
apprehensions,  which  might  lead  honest  and  right- 
hearted  men,  lovers  and  friends  of  their  birthland,  to 
oppose  the  rising  spirit  of  independence,  as  inflamed  by 
demagogues,  and  as  foreboding  discomfiture  and  mis- 
chief.' Thompson  became  '  suspect,'  though  no  record 
of  any  unfriendly  or  unpatriotic  act  or  speech  on  his 
part  is  to  be  found.  He  was  known  to  be  on  friendly 
terms  with  Governor  Wentworth ;  but  the  governor, 
when  he  gave  Thompson  his  commission,  was  highly 
popular  in  the  province.  Prior  to  Wentworth's  acces- 
sion to  office  he  '  had  strongly  opposed  every  measure 
of  Great  Britain  which  was  regarded  as  encroaching 
upon  our  liberties.'  He  thought  himself,  nevertheless, 
in  duty  bound  to  stand  by  the  royal  authority  when  it 
was  openly  defied.  This  rendered  him  obnoxious. 

Thompson  was  a  man  of  refractory  temper,  and  the 
circumstances  of  the  time  were  only  too  well  calculated 
to  bring  that  temper  out.  <  There  was  something,' 
says  Dr.  Ellis,  '  exceedingly  humiliating  and  degrading 
to  a  man  of  an  independent  and  self-respecting  spirit 
in  the  conditions  imposed  at  times  by  the  "  Sons  of 
Liberty,"  in  the  process  of  cleansing  oneself  from  the 
taint  of  Toryism.  The  Committees  of  Correspondence 
and  of  Safety,  whose  services  stand  glorified  to  us 
through  their  most  efficient  agency  in  a  successful 
struggle,  delegated  their  authority  to  every  witness  or 
agent  who  might  be  a  self-constituted  guardian  of 
patriotic  interests,  or  a  spy,  or  an  eavesdropper,  to 
catch  reports  of  suspected  persons.'  Human  nature 


104  COUNT  RUMFORD. 

is  everywhere  tne  same,  and  to  protect  a  cherished  cause 
these  *  Sons  of  Liberty  *  sometimes  adopted  the  tactics 
of  the  Papal  Inquisition. 

Public  feeling  grew  day  by  day  more  exasperated 
against  Thompson,  and  in  the  summer  of  1774  he  was 
summoned  before  a  committee  to  answer  to  the  charge 
of  being  unfriendly  to  the  cause  of  liberty.  *  He  denied 
the  charge,  and  challenged  proof.  The  evidence,  if  any 
such  was  offered — and  no  trace  of  testimony,  or  even  of 
imputation  of  that  kind  is  on  record — was  not  of  a  sort 
to  warrant  any  proceeding  against  him;  and  he  was  dis- 
charged.' This,  however,  gave  him  but  little  relief,  and 
extra-judicial  plots  were  formed  against  him.  The 
Concord  mob  resolved  to  take  the  matter  into  their  own 
hands.  One  day  they  collected  round  his  house,  and 
with  hoots  and  yells  demanded  that  Thompson  should 
be  delivered  up  to  them.  Having  got  wind  of  the 
matter  he  escaped  in  time.  In  a  letter  addressed  to 
his  father-in-law  at  this  time  from  Charlestowu,  near 
Boston,  he  gives  his  reasons  for  quitting  home.  '  To 
have  tarried  at  Concord  and  have  stood  another  trial  at 
the  bar  of  the  populace  would  doubtless  have  been 
attended  with  unhappy  consequences,  as  my  innocence 
would  have  stood  me  in  no  stead  against  the  prejudices 
of  an  enraged,  infatuated  multitude — and  much  less 
against  the  determined  villainy  of  my  inveterate  enemies, 
who  strive  to  raise  their  popularity  on  the  ruins  of  my 
character.' 

He  returned  to  his  mother's  house  in  Woburn, 
where  he  was  joined  by  his  wife  and  child.  While  they 
were  with  him,  shots  were  exchanged  and  blood  was 
shed  at  Concord  (Emerson's  Concord)  and  Lexington. 
Thompson  was  at  length  arrested,  and  confined  in  Wo- 
burn. A  '  Committee  of  Correspondence '  was  formed 
to  inquire  into  his  conduct.  They  invited  everyone  who 


COUNT   RUMFORD.  105 

could  give  evidence  in  the  affair  to  appear  at  the  meeting- 
house on  May  18.  The  committee  met,  but  finding 
nothing  against  the  accused,  they  adjourned  the  meeting. 
He  then  addressed  a  petition  to  the  Committee  of  Safety 
for  the  colony  of  Massachusetts  Bay,  in  which  he  begged 
for  a  full  and  searching  trial,  relying  on  an  acquittal 
commensurate  with  the  thoroughness  of  the  examination. 
The  petition  was  not  attended  to.  On  May  29,  1775, 
he  was  examined  at  Woburn,  where  he  conducted  his 
own  defence.  He  was  acquitted  by  the  committee,  who 
recommended  him  to  the  '  protection  of  all  good  people 
in  this  and  the  neighbouring  provinces.'  The  com- 
mittee, however,  refused  to  make  this  acquittal  a  public 
one,  lest,  it  was  alleged,  it  should  offend  those  who  were 
opposed  to  Thompson. 

Despair  and  disgust  took  possession  of  him  more  and 
more.  In  a  long  letter  addressed  to  his  father-in-law 
from  Woburn,  he  defends  his  entire  course  of  conduct. 
His  principal  offence  was  probably  negative  ;  for  silence 
at  the  time  was  deemed  tantamount  to  antagonism. 
During  his  brief  period  of  farming  he  had  working  for 
him  some  deserters  from  the  British  army  in  Boston. 
These  he  persuaded  to  go  back,  and  this  was  urged  as  a 
crime  against  him.  He  defended  himself  with  spirit, 
declaring  after  he  had  explained  his  motives  that  if  his 
action  were  a  crime,  he  gloried  in  being  a  criminal.  He 
made  up  his  mind  to  quit  the  country,  expressing  the 
devout  wish  l  that  the  happy  time  may  soon  come  when 
I  may  return  to  my  family  in  peace  and  safety,  and 
when  every  individual  in  America  may  sit  down  under 
his  own  vine  and  under  his  own  fig-tree,  and  have  none 
to  make  him  afraid.' 

On  this  letter,  and  on  the  circumstances  of  the  time, 
Dr.  Ellis  makes  the  following  wise  and  pertinent  re- 
maiks:  'Major  Thompson  was  not  the  only  person  in 


106  COUNT  KUMFORJJ. 

those  troubled  times  that  had  occasion  to  charge  upon 
those  espousing  the  championship  of  public  liberty  a 
tyrannical  treatment  of  individuals  who  did  not  accord 
with  their  schemes  or  views.  Probably  in  our  late  war 
of  rebellion  his  case  was  paralleled  by  those  of  hundreds 
in  both  sections  of  our  country,  who,  with  halting  and 
divided  minds  or  unsatisfied  judgments,  were  arrested 
in  the  process  of  decision  by  treatment  from  others 
which  put  them  under  the  lead  of  passion.  The  choice 
of  a  great  many  Royalists  in  our  revolution  would  have 
been  wiser  and  more  satisfactory  to  themselves,  had 
they  been  allowed  to  make  it  deliberately.'  On  October 
13,  1775,  Thompson  quitted  Wobuvn,  reached  the  shore 
of  Narraganset  Bay,  and  went  on  board  a  British  frigate. 
In  this  vessel  he  was  conveyed  to  Boston,  where  he  re- 
mained until  the  town  was  evacuated  by  the  British 
troops.  The  news  of  this  catastrophe  he  carried  to  England. 
Henceforward,  till  the  close  of  the  war,  he  was  on  the 
English  side.  As  a  matter  of  course,  he  was  proscribed 
by  his  countrymen,  and  his  property  confiscated. 

Thompson  was  not  only  a  man  of  great  capacity, 
but,  in  early  days,  of  a  social  pliancy  and  teachableness 
which  enabled  him  with  extreme  rapidity  to  learn  the 
manners  and  fall  into  the  ways  of  great  people.  On 
the  English  side  the  War  of  Independence  was  begun, 
continued,  and  ended,  in  ignorance.  Even  now  we  can 
hardly  read  the  pages  of  *  The  Virginians '  which  refer 
to  these  times  with  out  exasperation.  Blunder  followed 
blunder,  and  defeat  followed  defeat,  until  the  knowledge 
which  ought  to  have  been  ready  at  the  outset  came  too 
late.  Thompson  for  a  time  was  the  vehicle  of  such  be- 
lated knowledge.  He  was  immediately  attached  to  the 
Colonial  Office,  then  ruled  over  by  Lord  George  Ger- 
main. Cuvier,  in  his  '  Eloge,'  thus  describes  his  first 
interview  with  that  Minister  :  *  On  this  occasion,  by  the 


COUNT  RUMFORD.  107 

clearness  of  his  details  and  the  gracefulness  of  his  man- 
ners, he  insinuated  himself  so  far  into  the  graces  of 
Lord  George  Germain  that  he  took  him  into  his  em- 
ployment.' With  Lord  George  he  frequently  bieak- 
fasted,  dined,  and  supped,  and  was  occasionally  his 
guest  in  the  country.  But  besides  giving  information 
useful  to  his  chiefs,  he  occupied  himself  with  other 
matters.  He  was  a  born  experimentalist,  handy,  in- 
genious, full  of  devices  to  meet  practical  needs.  He 
turned  his  attention  to  improvements  in  military 
matters;  'advised  and  procured  the  adoption  of  bayonets 
for  the  fusees  of  the  Horse  Guards,  to  be  used  in  fight- 
ing on  foot.'  He  had  previously  been  engaged  with 
experiments  on  gunpowder,  which  he  now  resumed. 
The  results  of  these  experiments  he  communicated  to 
Sir  Joseph  Banks,  then  President  of  the  Eoyal  Society, 
with  whom  he  soon  became  intimate.  In  1779  he  was 
elected  a  Fellow  of  the  Royal  Society. 

When  the  war  had  become  hopeless,  many  of  the 
exiles  who  had  been  true  to  the  Royalist  cause  came  to 
England,  where  Thompson's  official  position  imposed  on 
him  the  duty  of  assuaging  their  miseries  and  adjusting 
their  claims.  In  this  connection,  the  testimony  of  Dr. 
Ellis  regarding  him  is  that,  '  so  far  as  the  relations  be- 
tween these  refugees  and  Mr.  Thompson  can  be  traced, 
I  find  no  evidence  that  he  failed  to  do  in  any  case  what 
duty  and  friendliness  required  of  him.'  Still  he  did 
not  entirely  escape  the  censure  of  his  outlawed  fellow- 
countrymen.  One  of  them  in  particular  had  been  a 
judge  in  Salem  when  Thompson  was  a  shopboy  in 
Appleton's  store.  Judge  Curwen  complained  of  Thomp- 
son's fair  appearance  and  uncandid  behaviour.  He  must 
have  keenly  felt  the  singular  reversal  in  their  relations. 
'This  young  man,'  says  the  judge,  'when  a  shop-lad  to 
my  next  neighbour,  eve'-  appeared  active,  good-natured, 


108  COUNT  RUMFORD. 

and  sensible ;  by  a  strange  concurrence  of  events,  he  is 
now  Under-Secretary  to  the  American  Secretary  of  State, 
Lord  George  Germain,  a  Secretary  to  Georgia,  Inspector 
of  all  the  clothing  sent  to  America,  and  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  Commandant  of  Horse  Dragoons  at  New  York ; 
his  income  from  these  sources  is,  I  have  been  told,  near 
TjOOO^.1  a  year — a  sum  infinitely  beyond  his  most 
sanguine  expectations.' 

As  the  prospects  of  the  war  darkened,  Thompson's 
patron  in  England  became  more  and  more  the  object  of 
attack.  The  people  had  been  taxed  in  vain.  England 
was  entangled  in  Continental  war,  and  it  became  gra- 
dually recognised  that  the  subjugation  of  the  colony 
was  impossible.  Burgoyne  had  surrendered,  and  the 
issue  of  the  war  hung  upon  the  fate  of  Cornwallis.  On 
October  19  he  also  was  obliged  to  capitulate.  The 
effect  of  the  disaster  upon  Lord  North,  who  was  then 
Prime  Minister,  is  thus  described  by  Sir  M.  W.  Wrax- 
all : — '  The  First  Minister's  firmness,  and  even  his  pre- 
sence of  mind,  gave  way  for  a  short  time  under  this 
awful  disaster.  I  asked  Lord  George  afterwards  how 
he  took  the  communication.  "  As  he  would  have 
taken  a  ball  in  his  breast,"  replied  Lord  George ;  "  he 
opened  his  arms,  exclaiming  wildly,  as  he  paced  up  and 
down  the  apartment  during  a  few  minutes,  '  0  God  !  it 
is  all  over  I"" 

To  Thompson's  credit  be  it  recorded,  that  he  showed 
no  tendency  to  desert  the  cause  he  had  espoused  when 
he  found  it  to  be  a  failing  one.  In  1782  his  chief  was 
driven  from  power.  At  this  critical  time  he  accepted 
the  commission  of  lieutenant-colonel  in  the  British 
army,  and  returned  to  America  with  a  view  of  rallying 
for  a  final  stand  such  forces  as  he  might  find  capable 
of  organisation.  He  took  with  him  four  pieces  of 

1  This  Dr.  Ellis  considers  to  be  a  delusion. 


COUNT  KUMFORD.  109 

artillery,  with  which  he  made  experiments  during  the 
voyage.  His  destination  was  Long  Island,  New  York, 
but  stress  of  weather  carried  him  to  Charleston,  South 
Carolina.  '  Obliged,'  says  Pictet,  '  to  pass  the  winter 
there,  he  was  made  commander  of  the  remains  of  the 
cavalry  in  the  Royal  army,  which  was  then  under  the 
orders  of  Lieutenant-General  Leslie.  This  corps  was 
broken,  but  he  promptly  restored  it,  and  won  the  confi- 
dence and  attachment  of  the  commander.  He  led  them 
often  against  the  enemy,  and  was  always  successful  in 
his  enterprises.' 

About  the  middle  of  April  Thompson  reached  New 
York,  and  took  command  of  the  King's  American 
Dragoons.  Colours  were  presented  to  the  regiment  on 
August  1 ,  a  very  vivid  account  of  the  ceremony  being 
given  in  Rivington's '  Royal  Gazette  '  of  August  7, 1782. 
Prince  William  Henry,  afterwards  King  William  IV., 
was  there  at  the  time.  The  regiment  passed  in  review 
before  him,  performing  marching  salutes.  They  then 
returned,  dismounted,  and  formed  in  a  semicircle  in  front 
of  the  canopy.  After  an  address  by  their  chaplain,  the 
whole  regiment  knelt  down,  laid  their  helmets  and  arms 
on  the  ground,  held  up  their  right  hands,  and  took  a 
most  solemn  oath  of  allegiance  to  their  sovereign,  and 
fidelity  to  their  standard.  From  Admiral  Digby  the 
Prince  received  the  colours,  and  presented  them  with  his 
own  hands  to  Thompson,  who  passed  them  on  to  the 
oldest  cornets.  <  On  a  given  signal  the  whole  regiment, 
with  all  the  numerous  spectators,  gave  three  shouts,  the 
music  played  "  God  save  the  King,"  the  artillery  fired 
a  royal  salute,  and  the  ceremony  was  ended.' 

Many  complaints  have  been  made  of  the  behaviour 
of  the  troops  during  their  stay  at  Long  Island,  New 
York.  But  war  is  always  horrible ;  and  it  is  pretty 


110  COUNT   RUMFORD. 

clear  from  the  account  of  Dr.  Ellis,  that  the  complaints 
had  no  other  foundation  than  events  inseparable  from 
the  carrying  on  of  war.  In  the  statement  of  Thompson's 
case  his  biographer,  extenuating  nothing,  and  setting 
down  naught  in  malice,  winds  up  his  third  chapter  with 
these  words  :  '  I  may  add  to  sue5:  praise  as  is  due  to  him 
as  a  good  soldier,  quick  and  true  and  bold  in  action, 
and  faithful  to  the  Government  which  he  served,  the 
higher  tribute  that,  from  the  hour  when  the  war  closed, 
he  became,  and  ever  continued  to  be,  the  constant 
friend  and  generous  benefactor  of  his  native  country.' 

Early  in  April  1783  Thompson  obtained  leave  to 
return  to  England,  but  finding  there  no  opportunity  for 
active  service,  he  resolved  to  try  his  fortune  on  the  Con- 
tinent, intending  to  otfer  his  services  as  a  -volunteer  in 
the  Austrian  army  against  the  Turks.  The  historian 
Gibbon  crossed  the  Channel  with  him.  In  a  letter  dated 
Dover,  September  1 7,  1783,  Gibbon  writes  thus : — *  Last 
night  the  wind  was  so  high  that  the  vessel  could  not 
stir  from  the  harbour;  this  day  it  is  brisk  and  fair. 
We  are  flattered  with  the  hope  of  making  Calais  Har- 
bour by  the  same  tide  in  three  hours  and  a  half;  but 
any  delay  will  leave  the  disagreeable  option  of  a  tottering 
boat  or  a  tossing  night.  What  a  cursed  thing  to  live 
in  an  island  !  this  step  is  more  awkward  than  the  whole 
journey.  The  triumvirate  of  this  memorable  embarka- 
tion will  consist  of  the  grand  Gibbon  ;  Henry  Laurens, 
Esq.,  President  of  Congress ;  and  Mr.  Secretary,  Colonel, 
Admiral,  Philosopher  Thompson,  attended  by  three 
horses,  who  are  not  the  most  agreeable  fellow-passengers. 
If  we  survive,  I  will  finish  and  seal  my  letter  at  Calais. 
Our  salvation  shall  be  ascribed  to  the  prayers  of  my 
lady  and  aunt,  for  I  do  believe  they  both  pray.'  The 
'grand  Gibbon'  is  reported  to  have  been  terribly 


COUNT  BUMFORD.  Ill 

frightened  by  the  plunging  of  his  fellow-passengers,  the 
three  blood-horses. 

Thompson  pushed  on  to  Strasburg,  where  Prince 
Maximilian  of  Bavaria,  then  a  field-marshal  in  the 
service  of  France,  was  in  garrison.  As  on  a  former 
occasion  in  his  native  country,  Thompson,  mounted  on 
one  of  his  chargers,  appeared  on  the  parade-ground. 
He  attracted  the  attention  of  the  Prince,  who  spoke  to 
him,  and  on  learning  that  he  had  been  serving  in  the 
American  war,  pointed  to  some  of  his  officers,  and  re- 
marked that  they  had  been  in  the  same  war.  An 
animated  conversation  immediately  began,  at  the  end  of 
which  Thompson  was  invited  to  dine  with  the  Prince. 
After  dinner,  it  is  said,  he  produced  a  portfolio  con- 
taining plans  of  the  principal  engagements,  and  a  col- 
lection of  excellent  maps  of  the  seat  of  war.  Eager 
for  information,  the  Prince  again  invited  him  for  the 
next  day,  and  when  at  length  the  traveller  took 
leave,  engaged  him  to  pass  through  Munich,  giving 
him  a  friendly  letter  to  his  uncle,  the  Elector  of 
Bavaria. 

Thompson  carried  with  him  wherever  he  went  the 
stamp  of  power  and  the  gift  of  address.  The  Elector, 
a  sage  ruler,  saw  in  him  immediately  a  man  capable  of 
rendering  the  State  good  service.  He  pressed  his  visitor 
to  accept  a  post  half  military,  half  civil.  The  proposal 
was  a  welcome  one  to  Thompson,  and  he  came  to 
England  to  obtain  the  King's  permission  to  accept  it. 
Not  only  was  the  permission  granted,  but  on  February 
23,  1784,  he  was  knighted  by  the  King.  Dr.  Ellis 
publishes  the  *  grant  of  arms '  to  the  new  knight.  In  it 
he  is  described  as  '  Son  of  Benjamin  Thompson,  late  of  the 
Province  of  Massachusetts  Bay  in  New  England,  Gent., 
deceased,'  and  as  '  of  one  of  the  most  antient  Families 
in  North  America ;  that  an  Island  which  belonged  to 


112  COUNT   RUMFORD. 

his  Ancestors,  at  the  entrance  of  Boston  HarJbour,  where 
the  first  New  England  Settlement  was  made,  still  bears 
his  name ;  that  his  Ancestors  have  ever  lived  in  reputable 
Situations  in  that  country  where  he  was  born,  and  have 
hitherto  used  the  Arms  of  the  antient  and  respectable 
Family  of  Thompson,  of  the  county  of  York,  from  a 
constant  Tradition  that  they  derived  their  Descent  from 
that  Source.'  The  original  parchment,  perfect  and 
unsullied,  with  all  its  seals,  is  in  the  possession  of  Mrs. 
James  F.  Baldwin,  of  Boston,  widow  of  the  executor 
of  Countess  Sarah  Eumford.1  The  knight  himself, 
observes  his  biographer,  must  have  furnished  the  infor- 
mation written  on  that  flowery  and  mythical  parchment. 
Thompson  was  fond  of  display,  and  he  here  gave  rein  to 
his  tendency.  He  returned  to  Munich,  and  on  his 
arrival  the  Elector  appointed  him  colonel  of  a  regiment 
of  cavalry  and  general  aide-de-camp  to  himself.  He 
was  lodged  in  a  palace,  which  he  shared  with  the 
Russian  Ambassador,  and  had  a  military  staff  and  a 
corps  of  servants.  *  His  imposing  figure,  his  manly  and 
handsome  countenance,  his  dignity  of  bearing,  and  his 
courteous  manners,  not  only  to  the  great,  but  equally 
to  his  subordinates  and  inferiors,  made  him  exceedingly 
popular.' 

He  soon  acquired  a  mastery  of  the  German  and 
French  languages.  He  made  himself  minutely  ac- 
quainted with  everything  concerning  the  dominions  of 
the  Elector — their  population  and  employments,  their 
resources  and  means  of  development,  and  their  relations 
to  other  powers.  He  found  much  that  needed  removal 
and  required  reformation.  Speaking  of  the  Electorate, 
Cuvier  remarks  that  '  its  sovereigns  had  encouraged 
devotion,  and  made  no  stipulation  in  favour  of  industry. 
There  were  more  convents  than  manufactories  in  their 
'  Ellia. 


COUNT  RUMFORD.  113 

States  ;  their  army  was  almost  a  shadow,  while  ignorance 
and  idleness  were  conspicuous  in  every  class  of  society.' 
Thompson  evoked  no  religious  animosity.  He  avowed 
himself  a  Protestant,  but  met  with  no  opposition 
on  that  score.  Holding  as  he  did  the  united  offices  of 
Minister  of  War,  Minister  of  Police,  and  Chamberlain 
of  the  Elector,  his  influence  and  action  extended  to 
all  parts  of  the  public  service.  Then,  as  now,  the 
armies  of  the  Continent  were  maintained  by  conscrip- 
tion. Drawn  away  from  their  normal  occupations,  the 
peasants  returned  after  their  term  of  service  lazy  and 
demoralised.  This  was  a  great  difficulty  ;  and  in  dealing 
with  it  patient  caution  had  to  be  combined  with  adminis- 
trative skill.  Four  years  of  observation  were  spent  at 
Munich  before  Thompson  attempted  any  thing  practical. 
The  pay  of  the  soldiers  was  miserable,  their  clothing  bad, 
their  quarters  dirty  and  mean  ;  the  expense  being  out  of 
all  proportion  to  the  return.  The  officers,  as  a  general 
rule,  regarded  the  soldiers  as  their  slaves ;  and  here 
special  prudence  was  necessary  in  endeavouring  to  effect 
a  change.  Thompson  induced  the  more  earnest  among 
the  officers  to  co-operate  with  him,  by  making  the  pro- 
posed reforms  to  originate  apparently  with  them.  He 
aimed  at  making  soldiers  citizens  and  citizens  soldiers. 
The  situation  of  the  soldier  was  to  be  rendered  pleasant, 
his  pay  was  to  be  increased,  his  clothing  rendered  com- 
fortable and  even  elegant,  while  all  liberty  consistent 
with  strict  subordination  was  to  be  permitted  him. 
Within,  the  barracks  were  to  be  neat  and  clean ;  and  with- 
out, attractive.  Reading,  writing,  and  arithmetic  were 
to  be  taught,  not  only  to  the  soldiers  and  their  children, 
but  to  the  children  of  the  neighbouring  peasantry.  The 
paper  used  in  the  school  would,  it  was  urged,  be 
practically  free  of  cost,  as  it  would  serve  afterwards 
for  cartridges. 


114  COUNT  BUMFOED. 

The  marshes  near  Mannheim  were  dreary  bogs,  use- 
less for  cultivation  and  ruinous  to  the  health  of  the 
city.  Thompson  drained  them,  banked  them  in,  and 
converted  them  into  a  garden  for  the  use  of  the  garrison. 
For  the  special  purpose  of  introducing  the  culture  of 
the  potato,  he  extended  the  plan  of  military  gardens 
to  all  other  garrisons.  The  gardens  were  tilled,  and  their 
produce  was  owned  by  noncommissioned  officers  and 
privates,  each  of  whom  had  a  plot  of  365  square  feet 
allotted  to  him.  Gravel  walks  divided  the  plots  from 
each  other.  The  plan  proved  completely  successful. 
Indolent  soldiers  became  industrious,  while  soldiers  on 
furlough,  spreading  abroad  their  taste  and  knowledge, 
caused  little  gardens  to  spring  up  everywhere  over  the 
country.  Having  secured  this  end,  he  converted  it  into 
a  means  of  suppressing  the  enormous  evils  of  mendicity. 
Bavaria  was  infested  with  beggars,  vagabonds,  and 
thieves,  native  and  foreign.  These  mendicant  tramps 
were  in  the  main  stout,  healthy,  and  able-bodied  fellows, 
who  found  a  life  of  thievish  indolence  pleasanter  than 
a  life  of  honest  work.  '  These  detestable  vermin  had 
recourse  to  the  most  diabolical  arts  and  the  most  horrid 
crimes  in  the  prosecution  of  their  infamous  trade. 
They  robbed,  and  maimed  and  exposed  little  children, 
so  as  to  extract  money  from  the  tender-hearted.  In  the 
cities  the  beggars  formed  a  distinct  caste,  with  profes- 
sional rules  to  guide  them.  Their  training  was  a 
training  in  robbery ;  the  means  they  employed  for 
extoitiug  support  being  equivalent  to  direct  plunder. 
Seeing  no  escape  from  the  incubus,  the  public  had  come 
to  bow  to  it  as  a  necessity.  The  energy  with  which 
Thompson  grappled  with  this  evil  may  be  inferred  from 
the  fact  that  out  of  a  population  of  sixty  thousand,  two 
thousand  six  hundred  beggars  were  impounded  in  a 
single  week. 


COUNT  RUMFORD.  115 

Four  regiments  of  cavalry  were  so  cantoned  thai 
every  village  in  Bavaria  and  the  adjoining  provinces 
had  a  patrol  party  of  four  or  five  mounted  soldiers 
'daily  coursing  from  one  station  to  another.'  The 
troopers  were  under  strict  discipline,  extreme  care  being 
taken  to  avoid  collision  with  the  civil  authorities.  This 
disposition  of  the  cavalry  was  antecedent  to  seizing,  as 
a  beginning,  all  the  beggars  in  the  capital.  Aged  and 
infirm  mendicants  were  carefully  distinguished  from  the 
sturdy  and  able-bodied.  Voluntary  contributions  were 
essential,  but  the  inhabitants,  though  groaning  under 
the  load  of  mendicancy,  had  been  so  often  disappointed 
in  their  efforts  to  get  rid  of  it  that  they  now  held  back. 
Thompson  resolved  to  give  proof  of  success  before  asking 
for  general  aid.  He  interested  persons  of  high  rank  in 
his  scheme  ;  organised  a  bureau  to  relieve  the  needy  and 
employ  the  idle.  The  members  of  his  committee  were 
presidents  of  the  great  offices  of  State,  who  worked 
without  pay.  The  city  was  divided  into  sixteen  districts, 
with  a  committee  of  charity  for  each ;  while  a  re- 
spected citizen,  assisted  by  a  priest  and  a  physician, 
serving  gratuitously,  looked  after  the  worthy  poor. 
He  knew  perfectly  well  that  in  Munich  many  be- 
quests consecrated  to  charity  were  being  abused  and 
wasted,  but  he  cautiously  abstained  from  meddling  with 
them. 

The  problem  before  him  might  well  have  daunted  a 
courageous  man.  It  was  neither  more  nor  less  than  to 
convert  people  bred  up  in  lazy  and  dissolute  habits  into 
thrifty  workers.  Precepts,  he  knew,  were  unavailing, 
so  his  aim  was  to  establish  habits.  Eeversing  the  maxim 
that  people  must  be  virtuous  to  be  happy,  he  made  his 
beggars  happy  as  a  step  towards  making  them  virtuous. 
He  affirmed  that  he  had  learnt  the  importance  of  cleanli- 
ness through  observing  the  habits  of  birds  and  beasts. 


116  COUHT  RUMFORD. 

Lawgivers  and  founders  of  religions  ne^er  failed  to 
recognise  the  influence  of  cleanliness  on  man's  moral 
nature.  '  Virtue,'  he  said, '  never  dwelt  long  with  filth 
and  nastiness,  nor  do  I  believe  there  ever  was  a  person 
scrupulously  attentive  to  cleanliness  who  was  a  consum- 
mate villain.'  He  had  to  deal  with  wretches  covered 
with  filth  and  vermin,  to  cleanse  them,  teach  them,  and 
give  them  the  pleasure  and  stimulus  of  earning  money. 
He  did  not  waste  his  means  on  fine  buildings,  but  taking 
a  deserted  manufactory,  he  repaired  it,  enlarged  it, 
adding  to  it  kitchen,  bakehouse,  and  workshops  for 
mechanics.  Halls  were  provided  for  the  spinners  of 
flax,  cotton,  and  wool.  Other  halls  were  set  up  for 
weavers,  clothiers,  dyers,  saddlers,  wool-sorters,  carders, 
combers,  knitters,  and  seamstresses. 

The  next  step  was  to  get  the  ediflce  filled  with 
suitable  inmates.  New  Year's  Day  was  the  beggars' 
holiday,  and  their  reformer  chose  that  day  to  get  hold 
of  them.  It  was  the  1st  of  January,  1790.  In  the 
prosecution  of  his  despotic  scheme  all  men  seemed  to 
fall  under  his  lead.  To  relieve  it  of  the  odium  which 
might  accrue  if  it  were  effected  wholly  by  the  military, 
he  associated  with  himself  and  his  field  officers  the 
magistrates  of  Munich.  They  gave  him  willing  sym- 
pathy and  aid.  On  New  Year's  morning  he  and  the 
chief  magistrate  walked  out  together.  With  extended 
hand  a  beggar  immediately  accosted  them.  Thompson, 
setting  the  example  to  his  followers,  laid  his  hand 
gently  upon  the  shoulder  of  the  vagabond,  committed 
him  to  the  charge  of  a  sergeant,  with  orders  to  take 
him  to  the  Town-hall,  'where  he  would  be  provided  for 
in  one  way  if  he  were  really  helpless,  but  in  another  way 
if  he  were  not.'  Thompson  encouraged  his  associates, 
and  with  such  alacrity  was  the  work  accomplished,  that 
at  the  end  of  that  day  not  a  single  beggar  remained  at 


COUNT  RUMFORD.  117 

large.  The  name  of  every  member  of  the  motley  crew 
was  inserted  in  prepared  lists,  and  they  were  sent  off  to 
their  haunts  with  instructions  to  appear  on  the  following 
day  at  the  military  workhouse,  where  they  would  inhabit 
comfortable  warm  rooms,  enjoy  a  warm  dinner  daily,  and 
be  provided  with  remunerative  work.  In  the  suburbs  the 
same  measures  were  followed  up  successfully  by  patrols 
of  soldiers  and  police. 

With  his  iron  resolution  was  associated,  in  those 
days,  a  plastic  tact  which  enabled  him  to  avoid 
jealousies  and  collisions  that  a  man  of  more  hectoring 
temper  and  less  self-restraint  would  infallibly  have 
incurred.  To  the  schools  for  poor  students,  the  Sisters 
of  Charity,  the  hospital  for  lepers,  and  other  institutions, 
had  been  conceded  the  right  of  making  periodic  appeals 
from  house  to  house  ;  German  apprentices  had  also  been 
permitted  to  beg  upon  their  travels ;  all  of  these  had 
their  claims  adjusted.  After  he  had  swept  his  swarm  of 
paupers  into  the  quarters  provided  for  them,  Thompson's 
hardest  work  began.  Here  the  inflexible  order  which 
characterised  him  through  life  came  as  a  natural  force 
to  his  aid.  '  He  encouraged  a  spirit  of  industry,  pride, 
self-respect,  and  emulation,  finding  help  even  in  trifling 
distinctions  of  apparel.'  His  pauper  workhouse  was 
self-supporting,  while  its  inmates  were  happy.  For 
several  years  they  made  up  all  the  clothing  of  the 
Bavarian  troops,  realising  sometimes  a  profit  of  10,000 
florins  a  year.  Thompson  himself  constructed  and 
arranged  a  kitchen  which  provided  daily  a  warm  and 
nutritious  dinner  for  a  thousand  or  fifteen  hundred 
persons,  an  incredibly  small  amount  of  fuel  sufficing  to 
cook  a  dinner  of  this  magnitude.  The  military  work- 
house was  also  remunerative.  Its  profits  for  six  years 
exceeded  a  hundred  thousand  dollars.  The  military 
workhouse  at  Mannheim  was  unfortunately  set  on  fire 


118  COUNT  BUMFORD. 

and  ruined  during  the  siege  of  the  city  by  Austrian 
troops. 

Thompson  had  the  art  of  making  himself  loved  and 
honoured  by  the  people  whom  he  ruled  in  this  arbitrary 
way.  Some  very  striking  illustrations  of  this  are  given 
in  the  '  Life  and  Essays.'  He  once,  for  example,  broke 
down  at  Munich  under  his  self-imposed  labours.  It 
was  thought  that  he  was  dying,  and  one  day  while  in 
this  condition,  his  attention  was  attracted  by  the  con- 
fused noise  of  a  passing  multitude  in  the  street.  It 
was  the  poor  of  Munich  who  were  going  in  procession  to 
the  church  to  offer  public  prayers  for  him.  *  Public 
prayers  I '  he  exclaims,  '  for  me,  a  private  person,  a 
stranger,  a  Protestant ! '  Four  years  afterwards,  when 
he  was  dangerously  ill  at  Naples,  the  people  of  their 
own  accord  set  apart  an  hour  each  evening,  after  they 
had  finished  their  labours  in  the  military  workhouse,  to 
pray  for  his  recovery. 

Men  find  pleasure  in  exercising  the  powers  they 
possess,  and  Rumford  possessed,  in  its  highest  and 
strongest  form,  the  power  of  organisation.  The  relief 
of  the  poor,  which  occupied  his  attention  for  years,  was 
pursued  by  him  as  a  scientific  inquiry.  He  differen- 
tiated the  people  who  had  fair  claims  upon  the  State 
from  those  whose  infirmity  and  incapacity  rendered  con- 
tinuous assistance  necessary,  but  \vho  could  not  be  aided 
by  compulsory  taxation.  In  this  case  the  promptings 
of  humanity  must  be  invoked.  Persons  of  high  rank 
ought  here  to  take  the  lead,  combining  with  those  im- 
mediately below  them  to  secure  efficient  supervision 
and  relief.  The  expense  thus  incurred  is  small  compared 
with  that  incidental  to  beggary  and  its  concomitant 
thieving.  Thompson's  hope  and  confidence  never  for- 
sook him.  He  faced,  uuquailing,  problems  from  which 
less  daring  spirits  would  have  recoiled.  He  held,  un- 


COUNT   RUMFORD.  119 

doubtingly,  that  'arrangement,  method,  provision  for 
the  minutest  details,  subordination,  co-operation,  and  a 
careful  system  of  statistics,  will  facilitate  and  make 
effective  any  undertaking,  however  burdensome  and 
comprehensive.'  Such  a  statement  would  surely  have 
elicited  a  '  bravo  ! '  from  Carl  vie.  In  Thompson,  flexible 
wisdom  formed  an  amalgam  with  despotic  strength. 
With  skill  and  resolution  the  objects  of  public  benevo- 
lence must,  he  urged,  be  made  to  contribute  as  far  as 
possible  to  their  own  support.  The  homeliest  details 
did  not  escape  him.  He  commended  well-dressed 
vegetables  as  a  cheap  and  wholesome  aliment.  He 
descanted  on  the  potato,  he  gave  rules  for  the  construc- 
tion of  soup-kitchens,  and  determined  the  nutritive 
value  of  different  kinds  of  food.  During  his  bovhood 
at  Woburn  he  had  learnt  the  use  of  Indian  corn, 
and  at  Munich  he  strongly  recommended  the  dump- 
lings, bread,  and  hasty  pudding  made  from  maize. 
Pure  love  of  humanity  would,  at  first  sight,  seem  to 
have  been  the  motive  force  of  Thompson's  action.  Still, 
it  has  been  affirmed  by  those  who  knew  him  that  he 
did  not  really  love  his  fellow-men.  His  work  had  for 
him  the  fascination  of  a  problem  above  the  capacities 
of  most  men,  but  which  he  felt  himself  able  to  solve. 
It  was  said  to  be  the  work  of  his  intellect,  not  of  his 
heart.  In  reference  to  him,  Cuvier  quotes  what  Fon- 
tenelle  said  of  Dodard,  who  turned  his  rigid  observance 
of  the  fasts  of  the  Church  into  a  scientific  experiment 
on  the  effects  of  abstinence,  thereby  taking  the  path 
which  led  at  once  to  heaven  and  into  the  French 
Academy.  I  should  hesitate  before  accepting  this  as 
a  complete  account  of  Rumford's  motives. 

In  the  north-easterly  environs  of  Munich  a  wild 
and  neglected  region  of  forest  and  marsh,  which  had 
formerly  been  the  hunting-ground  of  the  Elector,  was 


120  COUNT  RUMFORD. 

converted  by  Thompson  into  an  'English  garden.' 
Pleasure-grounds,  parks,  and  fields  were  laid  out,  and 
surrounded  by  a  drive  six  miles  long.  Walks,  pro- 
menades, grottos,  a  Chinese  pagoda,  a  racecourse,  and 
other  attractions  were  introduced  ;  a  lake  was  formed 
and  a  mound  raised  ;  while  a  refreshment-saloon,  hand- 
somely furnished,  provided  for  the  creature  comforts 
of  the  visitors.  Here  during  Rumford's  absence  in 
England  in  1795,  and  without  his  knowledge,  a  monu- 
ment was  raised  to  commemorate  his  beneficent  achieve- 
ments. '  It  stands  within  the  garden,  and  is  composed 
of  Bavarian  freestone  and  marble.  It  is  quadrangular, 
its  two  opposite  fronts  being  ornamented  with  basso- 
relievos,  and  bearing  inscriptions.'  The  wanderer  on 
one  side  is  exhorted  to  halt,  while  thankfulness  streng- 
thens his  enjoyment.  'A  creative  hint  from  Carl 
Theodor,  seized  upon  with  spirit,  feeling,  and  love  by 
the  friend  of  man,  Eumford,  has  ennobled  into  what 
thou  now  seest  this  once  desert  region.'  On  the  other 
side  of  the  monument  is  a  dedication  to  '  Him  who 
eradicated  the  most  scandalous  of  public  evils,  Idleness 
and  Mendicity;  who  gave  to  the  poor  help,  occupation, 
and  morals,  and  to  the  youth  of  the  Fatherland  so  many 
schools  of  culture.  Gro,  wanderer  I  try  to  emulate  him 
in  thought  and  deed,  and  us  in  gratitude.' 

Rumford's  health,  as  already  indicated,  had  given 
way,  and  in  1793  he  went  to  Italy  to  restore  it.  He 
was  absent  for  sixteen  months,  and  during  his  absence 
was  seriously  ill  at  Naples.  Had  he  been  less  filled 
with  his  projects,  it  might  have  been  better  for  his 
health.  Had  he  known  how  to  employ  the  sanative 
power  of  Nature,  he  would  have  kept  his  vigorous  frame 
longer  in  working  order.  But  the  mountains  of  Mag- 
giore  were  to  him  less  attractive  than  the  streets  of 


COUNT  RUMFORD.  121 

Verona,  where  he  committed  himself  to  the  planning  of 
soup-kitchens.  He  made  similar  plans  for  other  cities, 
BO  that  to  call  his  absence  a  holiday  would  be  a  mis- 
nomer. He  returned  to  Munich  in  August  1794,  slowly 
recovering,  but  not  "able  to  resume  the  management 
of  his  various  institutions.  In  September  1795  he  re- 
turned to  London,  after  an  absence  of  eleven  years. 
Dr.  Ellis  describes  him  as  'the  victim  of  an  outrage  '  on 
his  arrival,  the  meaning  of  which  seems  to  be  that  the 
trunk  containing  his  papers,  which  was  carried  behind 
his  carriage,  was  appropriated  by  London  thieves.  *  By 
this  cruel  robbery,'  he  says,  '  1  have  been  deprived  of 
the  fruits  of  the  labours  of  my  whole  life.  .  .  .  It  is 
the  more  painful  to  me,  as  it  has  clouded  my  mind  with 
suspicions  that  can  never  be  cleared  up.'  What  the 
suspicions  were  we  do  not  know. 

Soon  afterwards  he  was  invited  by  Lord  Pelham,  then 
Secretary  of  State  for  Ireland,  to  visit  him  in  Dublin  ; 
he  went,  and  during  his  two  months'  stay  there  busied 
himself  with  improvements  of  warming,  cooking,  and 
ventilation,  in  the  hospitals  and  workhouses  of  the  city. 
He  left  behind  him  a  number  of  models  of  useful 
mechanism.  The  Eoyal  Irish  Academy  elected  him  a 
member.  The  grand  jury  of  Dublin  presented  him 
with  an  address ;  while  the  Viceroy  and  the  Lord  Mayor 
wrote  to  him.  officially  to  thank  him  for  his  services. 
Dr.  Ellis  has  not  been  able  to  find  these  documents, 
but  they  were  seen  by  Pictet,  who  describes  them  aa 
*  filled  with  the  most  flattering  expressions  of  esteem 
and  gratitude.' 

In  Rumford's  case  the  life  of  the  intellect  appeared 
to  have  interfered  with  the  life  of  the  affections.  When 
he  quitted  America,  he  left  his  wife  and  infant  daughter 
brhind  him,  and  whether  any  communication  after- 
wards  occurred  between  him  and  them  is  not  known. 


122  COUNT  RUMFORD. 

In  1793,  in  a  letter  to  his  friend  Baldwin,  he  expressed 
the  desire  to  visit  his  native  country.  He  also  wished 
exceedingly  to  be  personally  acquainted  with  his  daugh- 
ter, who  was  then  nineteen.  His  affection  for  his 
mother,  which  appears  to  have  been  very  real,  also 
appears  in  this  letter.  With  reference  to  the  projected 
visit,  he  asks,  '  Should  I  be  kindly  received  ?  Are  the 
remains  ot  party  spirit  and  political  persecution  done 
away  ?  Would  it  be  necessary  to  ask  leave  of  the 
State  ?  '  A  year  prior  to  the  date  of  this  letter,  Rum- 
ford's  wife  had  died  at  the  age  of  fifty-two.  On  January 
29,  1796,  his  daughter  sailed  for  London  to  see  her 
father.  She  bad  a  tedious  passage,  but  soon  after  her 
arrival  she  writes  to  her  friend  Mrs.  Baldwin,  'All 
fatigue  and  anxiety  are  now  at  an  end,  since  my  dear 
father  is  well  and  loves  me.' 

In  a  history  of  her  life,  written  many  years  after- 
wards, she,  however,  describes  the  disappointment  she 
experienced  on  first  meeting  her  father.  Her  imagi- 
nation had  sketched  a  fancy  picture  of  him.  She 
'  had  heard  him  spoken  of  as  an  officer,  and  had  attached 
to  this  an  idea  of  the  warrior  with  a  martial  look, 
possibly  the  sword,  if  not  the  gun,  by  his  side.'  All 
this  disappeared  when  she  saw  him.  He  did  not  strike 
her  as  handsome,  or  even  agreeable — a  result  in  part  due 
to  the  fact  that  he  had  been  ill,  and  was  very  thin  and 
pale.  She  speaks,  however,  of  his  laughter  *  quite  from 
the  heart,'  while  the  expression  of  his  mouth,  with  teeth 
described  as  'the  most  finished  pearls,'  was  sweetness 
itself.  He  did  not  seem  to  manage  her  very  successfully. 
She  had  little  knowledge  of  the  world,  and  her  purchases 
in  London  he  thought  both  extravagant  and  extra- 
ordinary. After  having,  by  due  discipline,  learnt  how 
to  make  an  English  courtesy,  to  the  horror  of  her 
tjither,  almost  the  first  use  she  made  of  her  newly- 


COUNT  EUMFOED.  123 

acquired  accomplishment  was  to  courtesy  to  a  house- 
keeper. 

His  labours  in  the  production  of  cheap  and  nutritious 
food  necessarily  directed  Eumford's  attention  to  fire- 
places and  chimney-flues.  When  he  published  his  essay 
on  this  subject  in  London,  he  reported  that  he  had  not 
less  than  five  hundred  smoky  chimneys  on  his  handa 
His  aid  and  advice  were  always  ready,  and  were  given 
indiscriminately  to  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men. 
Devonshire  House,  Sir  Joseph  Banks's,  the  Earl  of  Bess- 
borough's,  Countess  Spencer's,  Melbourne  House,  Lady 
Templeton's,  Mrs.  Montagu's,  Lord  Sudley's,  theMarquis 
of  Salisbury's,  and  a  hundred  and  fifty  other  houses  in 
London,  were  placed  in  his  care.  The  saving  of  fuel, 
with  gain  instead  of  loss  of  warmth,  varied  in  these 
cases  from  one-half  to  two- thirds.  '  Giving  very  simple 
and  intelligible  information  about  the  philosophical 
principles  of  combustion,  ventilation,  and  draughts,  he 
prepared  careful  diagrams  to  show  the  proper  measure- 
ments and  arrangements  of  all  the  parts  of  a  fireplace 
and  flue.  He  took  out  no  patent  for  his-  inventions, 
but  left  them  free  to  the  public.  In  a  poem  published 
at  this  time  by  Thomas  James  Matthias  we  have  the 
following  reference  to  the  labours  of  Rumford : — 

Nonsense,  or  sense,  I'll  bear  in  any  shape — 
In  gown,  in  lawn,  in  ermine,  or  in  crape  : 
What's  a  fine  type,  where  truth  exerts  her  rule  f 
Science  is  science,  and  a  fool's  a  fool. 
Yet  all  shall  read,  and  all  that  page  approve, 
When  public  spirit  meets  with  public  love. 
Thus  late,  where  poverty  with  rapine  dwelt, 
Eumford's  kind  genius  the  Bavarian  felt, 
Not  by  romantic  charities  beguiled, 
Bat  calm  in  project,  and  in  mercy  mild ; 
Where'er  his  wisdom  guided,  none  withstood, 
Content  with  peace  and  practicable  good ; 
Bound  him  the  laboureis  throng,  the  nobles  wait. 
Friend  of  the  poor,  and  guardian  of  the  State. 


124  COUNT  KUMFORD. 

The  pall  of  smoke  which  habitually  hung  over  London, 
'  covering  all  its  prominent  edifices  with  a  dingy  and 
sooty  mantle,'  curiously  and  anxiously  interested  him. 
He  *  saw  in  that  smoke  the  unused  material  which  was 
turned  equally  to  waste  and  made  a  means  of  annoyance 
and  insalubrity.'  He  would  bind  himself,  if  the  oppor- 
tunity were  allowed  him,  *  to  prove  that  from  the  heat, 
and  the  material  of  heat,  which  were  thus  wasted,  he 
would  cook  all  the  food  used  in  the  city,  warm  every 
apartment,  and  perform  all  the  mechanical  work  done 
by  means  of  fire.'  Under  this  wasted  heat  Eumford 
would  doubtless  comprise  both  the  imperfectly-con- 
sumed gases,  such  as  carbonic  oxide,  and  the  heated  air 
and  other  gases  discharged  by  the  chimneys. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  the  present  age  has  entered 
largely  into  the  labours  of  Rumtbrd.  Many  of  the 
devices  and  conveniences  now  employed  in  our  kitchens 
owe  their  origin  to  him.  The  practical  needs  and 
mechanical  ingenuity  of  his  own  countrymen  have 
caused  them  to  follow  his  lead  with  conspicuous  success. 
We  have,  for  example,  in  our  modest  little  kitchen  in 
the  Alps,  an  American  oven  which,  with  the  expenditure 
of  an  extremely  small  amount  of  firewood,  heats  our 
baths,  cooks  our  meat,  bakes  our  bread,  boils  our  clothes, 
and  contributes  to  the  warmth  and  comfort  of  the  house. 
This  arrangement  traces  its  pedigree  to  Rumford. 

In  1796  he  founded  the  historic  medal  which  bears 
his  name.  On  the  12th  of  July  of  that  year  he  wrote 
thus  to  Sir  Joseph  Banks,  then  President  of  the  Royal 
Society  :  '  I  take  the  liberty  to  request  that  the  Royal 
Society  would  do  me  the  honour  to  accept  of  1,OOOL 
stock  in  the  Funds  of  this  country,  which  I  have 
actually  purchased,  and  which  I  beg  leave  to  transfer  to 
the  President,  Council,  and  Fellows  of  the  Royal  Society, 


COUNT  KUMFORD.  125 

to  the  end  that  the  interest  of  the  same  may  be  by  them, 
and  by  their  successors,  received  from  time  to  time  for 
ever,  and  the  amount  of  the  same  applied  and  given 
once  every  second  year,  as  a  premium  to  the  author  of 
the  most  important  discovery  or  useful  improvement 
which  shall  be  made,  or  published  by  printing,  or  in  any 
way  made  known  to  the  public,  in  any  part  of  Europe, 
during  the  preceding  two  years,  on  Heat  or  Light.* 

He  adds  in  a  subsequent  letter,  as  further  defining 
his  wishes,  that  the  premium  should  be  limited  to  new 
discoveries  tending  to  improve  theories  of  Fire,  of  Heat, 
of  Light,  and  of  Colours,  and  to  new  inventions  and 
contrivances  by  which  the  generation,  and  preservation, 
and  management  of  heat  and  of  light  may  be  facilitated. 
The  device  and  inscriptions  on  the  medal  were  deter- 
mined by  a  committee.  It  was  resolved  'that  the 
diameter  of  the  medal  do  not  exceed  three  inches, 
and  that  Mr.  Milton  be  employed  in  sinking  the  dies  of 
the  said  medal.'  Two  medals  are  always  given,  one  of 
gold,  the  other  of  silver,  and  a  sum  of  about  seventy 
pounds  usually  accompanies  the  medals.  Eumford  him- 
self was  the  first  recipient  of  the  medal.  The  second 
was  given  to  Sir  John  Leslie,  the  founder's  celebrated 
rival  in  the  domain  of  radiant  heat.  On  the  same  date 
Eumford  presented  to  the  American  Academy  of  Arts 
and  Sciences  the  same  sum  for  the  promotion  of  the 
same  object.  In  fact,  the  letters  to  Sir  Joseph  Banks 
and  to  the  Honourable  John  Adams,  then  President  of 
the  American  Academy,  are  identical  in  terms.  For  a 
long  series  of  years  the  American  Academy  did  not  con- 
sider that  the  candidates  for  the  medal  had  reached  the 
level  of  merit  which  would  justify  its  award.  No  award 
was  therefore  made;  and  in  1829  the  Rutnford  bequest 
had  increased  from  five  thousand  to  twenty  thousand 
dollars.  After  some  litigation  the  terror  of  the  bequest 


126  COUNT  RUMFORD. 

were  extended  to  embrace  applications  of  it  far  beyond 
the  design  of  the  testator.  Permission  was  obtained  to 
apply  the  fund  to  the  publication  of  books,  or  methods 
of  discovery,  bearing  on  the  Count's  favourite  subjects 
of  experiment ;  and  to  the  aid  and  reward  of  scientific 
workers.  Thus,  in  1839,  Dr.  Hare,  of  Philadelphia,  re- 
ceived from  the  Academy  six  hundred  dollars  for  his 
invention  of  the  compound  blow-pipe,  and  his  improve- 
ments in  galvanic  apparatus.  In  1862  the  Kumford 
medal  was  awarded  to  Mr.  John  B.  Ericsson,  for  his 
caloric  engine;  while  Mr.  Alvan  Clark,  so  celebrated 
for  his  improvements  of  the  refracting  telescope,  and 
the  eminent  Dr.  John  Draper,  of  the  University  of  New 
York,  have  been  also  numbered  among  the  recipients. 

Accompanied  by  his  daughter,  Rumford  returned  to 
Germany  in  1796.  'Three  weeks'  constant  travel; 
circuitous  routes  to  avoid  troops,  bad  roads,  still  worse 
accommodations — passing  nights  in  the  carriages  for  the 
want  of  an  inn — scantiness  of  provisions,  joined  with 
great  fatigue,  rendered  our  journey  by  no  means  agree- 
able.' At  Munich  they  were  lodged  in  the  splendid 
house  allotted  to  the  Count.  France  and  Austria  were 
then  at  war,  while  Bavaria  sought  to  remain  rigidly 
neutral.  Eight  days  after  Rumford's  arrival,  the  Elector 
took  refuge  in  Saxony.  Moreau  had  crossed  the  Rhine  and 
threatened  Bavaria.  After  a  defeat  by  the  French,  the 
Austrians  withdrew  to  Munich,  but  found  the  gates  of 
the  city  closed  against  them.  They  planted  batteries  an 
a  height  commanding  the  city.  According  to  arrange- 
ment with  the  Elector,  Rumford  assumed  the  command 
of  the  Bavarian  forces,  and  by  his  firmness  and  presence 
of  mind  prevented  both  French  and  Austrians  from 
entering  Munich.  A  foreigner  acting  thus  was  sure  to 
excite  jealousy  and  encounter  opposition  ;  but,  despite 
all  this,  he  was  eminently  successful  in  realising  his 


COUNT  RUMFOBD.  127 

aims.  The  consideration  in  which  he  was  held  by  the 
Elector  is  illustrated  by  the  fact  that  he  made  Miss 
Thompson  a  Countess  of  the  Empire,  conferring  on  her 
a  pension  of  2001.  a  year,  with  liberty  to  enjoy  it  in  any 
country  where  she  might  wish  to  reside. 

The  following  incident  is  worth  recording.  In  March 
1796,  JRumford's  daughter,  wishing  to  celebrate  his 
birthday,  chose  out  of  his  workhouse  a  dozen  of  the 
most  industrious  little  boys  and  girls,  dressed  them  up 
in  the  uniform  of  that  establishment,  and  robing  herself 
in  white,  led  them  into  his  room  and  presented  them  to 
him.  He  was  so  much  touched  by  the  incident,  that 
he  made  her  a  present  of  two  thousand  dollars  (400Z.) 
on  condition  that  she  should,  in  her  will,  apply  the 
interest  of  the  sum  to  the  clothing  every  year  for  ever, 
on  her  own  birthday,  of  twelve  meritorious  children — 
six  girls  and  six  boys — in  the  Munich  uniform.  The 
poor  children  were  to  be  chosen  from  her  native  town, 
Concord.  Habit  must  to  some  extent  have  blinded 
Kumford's  eyes  to  the  objection  which  independent  New 
Englanders  were  likely  to  make  to  this  fantastic  apparel. 
They  bluntly  stated  their  objections,  but '  with  grateful 
hearts '  they  nevertheless  expressed  their  willingness  to 
accept  the  donation.  Nothing  further  was  done  during 
Rumford's  lifetime. 

The  New  England  girl,  brought  up  in  Concord, 
transplanted  thence  to  London,  arid  afterwards  to 
Munich,  was  subjected  to  a  trying  ordeal.  After  a 
short  period  of  initiation,  she  appears  to  have  passed 
through  it  creditably.  Her  writing  does  not  exhibit 
any  marked  qualities  of  intellect.  She  was  bright, 
gossipy,  '  volatile,'  and  she  throws  manifold  gleams 
on  the  details  of  Rumford's  life.  He  constantly  kept 
a  box  at  the  opera,  though  he  hardly  ever  went  there, 
and  hired  by  the  year  a  doctor  named  Haubenal. 
She  amusingly  describes  a  quintuple  present  made  to 


128  COUNT  RUMFORD. 

her  by  her  father  soon  after  her  arrival  in  Munich 
The  first  item  was  '  a  little  shaggy  dog,  as  white  as  snow, 
excepting  black  eyes,  ears,  and  nose ' ;  the  second  was  a 
lady  named  Veratzy,  who  was  sent  to  teach  her  French 
and  music;  the  third  was  a  Catholic  priest,  named 
Dillis,  who  was  to  be  her  drawing-master  ;  -the  fourth 
was  a  teacher  of  Italian,  named  Alberti ;  and  the  fifth, 
the  before-mentioned  Dr.  Haubenal,  who  was  to  look 
after  her  health.  She  did  not  at  all  like  the  arrange- 
ment. She  was  particularly  surprised  and  shocked  at 
a  doctor's  offering  his  services  before  they  were  wanted. 
'Said  I  to  myself,  Surrounded  by  people  who  speak 
French — and  all  genteel  people  speak  it  at  Munich — 
and  knowing  considerable  of  the  language  already,  where 
is  the  use  of  my  fatiguing  myself  with  masters  ?  Music 
the  same.'  In  fact,  the  little  dog  '  Cora '  was  the  only 
welcome  constituent  of  the  gift. 

She  describes  with  considerable  spirit  a  ball  which 
was  organised  to  celebrate  her  father's  birthday.  All 
united  to  do  him  honour.  Wreaths  surrounded  his 
bust;  his  workhouse  children,  joined  by  some  children 
of  the  nobility,  all  dressed  in  white,  handed  addresses 
to  him,  and  sang  in  accompaniment  to  the  swell  of 
music,  of  which  he  was  passionately  fond.  All  this  was 
arranged  without  his  knowledge,  and  possibly  not  without 
an  intention  to  give  dramatic  force  to  a  revelation  to  be 
made  at  the  time.  It  was  observed  that  Eumford  had 
singled  out  from  the  children  a  little  girl  of  eight,  who 
accompanied  him  when  he  walked,  and  took  her  place 
beside  him  when  he  sat.  The  little  girl  was  his  illegiti- 
mate child.  Sarah,  on  learning  this,  threw  herself  into 
the  dance  she  had  previously  declined,  and  thus  whirled 
away  her  indignation.  Her  partner  was  the  young  Count 
Taxis,  Rumford's  aide-de-camp,  between  whom  and 
Rumford's  daughter  a  friendly  intimacy  was  obviously 


COUNT  RUMFORD.  129 

growing  up.  Rumford  noticed  this,  and  disapproved  oi 
it.  Being  invited  to  dinner  at  the  house  of  the  Countess 
Lerchenfeld,  with  her  father's  consent  Miss  Thompson 
went.  Count  Taxis  happened  to  be  one  of  the  party, 
and  on  hearing  this  Eumford  jumped  to  the  conclusion 
that  a  ladies'  conspiracy  was  afoot  to  counteract  his 
wishes.  With  a  lowering  look  he  taxed  his  daughter 
with  what  he  supposed  to  be  an  intrigue.  At  first  she 
could  only  stare  at  him  in  surprise.  '  After  which,  on 
knowing  what  it  meant,  like  many  young  people  who 
laugh  when  there  is  nothing  to  laugh  at,  an  irresistible 
inclination  seized  me  to  laugh.'  She  gave  way  to  her 
inclination,  'and  it  ended  in  my  father's  boxing  my 
ears.'  She  was  stunned  by  the  indignity,  and  '  quitted 
the  room,  without  making  an  observation,  or  trying  to 
appease  him  by  saying  I  was  innocent.' 

The  Elector  put  the  seal  to  his  esteem  for  Rumford 
by  appointing  him  as  Plenipotentiary  from  Bavaria  to 
the  Court  of  London.  King  George,  however,  declined 
to  accept  him  in  this  capacity.  Mr.  Paget,  the  Minister 
at  the  Court  of  Bavaria,  was  desired  '  to  lose  no  time  in 
apprising  the  Ministers  of  His  Electoral  Highness  that 
such  an  appointment  would  be  by  no  means  agreeable 
to  His  Majesty,  and  that  His  Majesty  relies  therefore 
on  the  friendship  and  good  understanding  which  have 
always  hitherto  subsisted  between  himself  and  the 
Elector  of  Bavaria,  and  that  His  Highness  will  have  no 
hesitation  in  withdrawing  it.'  The  King  had  made 
up  his  mind.  '  Should  there  unexpectedly  arise  any 
difficulty  about  a  compliance  with  the  request,  which 
His  Majesty  is  so  clearly  warranted  in  making,  I  am  to 
direct  you,  in  the  last  resort,  to  state  in  distinct  terms 
that  His  Majesty  will  by  no  means  consent  to  receive 
Count  Rumford  in  the  character  which  has  been  assigned 
to  him.'  The  fact  of  Ilumford's  being  not  only  a  British 


130  CX)UNT  RUMFORD. 

subject,  but  that  he  had  actually  filled  a  confidential 
situation  under  the  British  Government,  was  cited  aa 
rendering  his  appointment  peculiarly  objectionable. 
Some  correspondence  ensued  between  Lord  Grenville 
and  Rumford,  but  the  appointment  was  not  ratified. 

Stung  by  the  refusal  of  King  George  to  accept 
him  as  Bavarian  Minister,  the  thought,  which  had 
often  occurred  to  him,  of  returning  to  his  native 
country  now  revived.  Mr.  Eufus  King  was  at  that 
time  American  Ambassador  in  London  ;  and  he,  by 
Rumford's  desire,  wrote  to  Colonel  Pickering,  then 
Secretary  of  State  for  the  United  States,  informing  him 
that  intrigues  in  Bavaria,  and  the  refusal  of  the  English 
king,  had  caused  the  Count  to  decide  on  establishing 
himself  at,  or  near,  Cambridge,  Massachusetts.  Mr. 
King  described  the  Count's  intention  to  live  in  the 
character  of  a  German  nobleman,  renouncing  all  poli- 
tical action,  and  devoting  himself  to  literary  pursuits. 
He  observed  that  Rumford  had  much  experience  of 
cannon  foundries,  and  had  made  important  improve- 
ments in  the  mounting  of  flying  artillery.  He  was, 
moreover,  the  possessor  of  an  extensive  military  library, 
and  wished  nothing  more  ardently  than  to  be  useful 
to  his  native  country.  Provision  had  been  made  for 
the  institution  of  a  military  academy  in  the  United 
States.  This  they  offered  to  place  under  the  superin- 
tendence of  Eumford.  'I  am  authorised,'  said  Mr. 
King,  *  to  offer  you,  in  addition  to  the  superintendence 
of  the  military  academy,  the  appointment  of  Inspector- 
General  of  the  Artillery  of  the  United  States ;  and  we 
shall  moreover  be  disposed  to  give  to  you  such  rank  and 
emoluments  as  would  be  likely  to  afford  you  satisfac- 
tion, and  to  secure  to  us  the  advantage  of  your  service.' 

The  hour  for  the  final  decision  approached,  but 
before  it  arrived  another  project  had  laid  hold  of  Rum- 


COUNT  RUMFORD.  131 

ford's  imagination — a  project  which  in  its  results  has 
proved  of  more  importance  to  science,  and  probably  of 
more  advantage  to  mankind,  than  any  which  this  multi- 
farious genius  had  previously  undertaken.  This  project 
was  the  foundation  of  the  Eoyal  Institution  of  Great 
Britain.  In  answer  to  the  American  Ambassador,  he  says, 
'  Nothing  could  have  afforded  me  so  much  satisfaction 
as  to  have  had  it  in  my  power  to  have  given  to  my 
liberal  and  generous  countrymen  such  proof  of  my  sen- 
timents as  would,  in  the  most  public  and  ostensible 
manner,  have  evinced,  not  only  my  gratitude  for  the 
kind  attentions  I  have  received  from  them,  but  also 
the  ardent  desire  I  feel  to  assist  in  promoting  the  pro- 
sperity of  my  native  country;  but  engagements,  which 
great  obligations  have  rendered  sacred  and  inviolable, 
put  it  out  of  my  power  to  dispose  of  my  time  and  ser- 
vices with  that  unreasoned  freedom  which  would  be 
necessary  in  order  to  enable  me  to  accept  of  those 
generous  offers  which  the  Executive  Government  of 
the  United  States  has  been  pleased  to  propose  to  me.' 

The  climate  of  Europe,  however,  did  not  seem  to 
suit  Eumford's  daughter.  Possibly  also  the  simple  tastes 
and  habits  of  her  childhood  were  too  deeply  ingrained 
in  her  constitution  to  permit  of  her  deriving  any  real 
enjoyment  from  the  outsided,  and  apparently  noisy  life 
which  she  was  forced  to  lead  in  Munich  and  London. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  she  returned  to  America,  reaching 
the  port  of  Boston  on  October  10,  1799,  'being  then 
just  twenty-five  years  of  age.'  Eumford  himself 
remained  in  England  with  the  view  of  realising  what 
I  have  called  the  greatest  project  of  his  life — the  found- 
ing of  the  Koyal  Institution. 

His  ideas  on  this  subject  took  definite  shape  in  1799. 
They  were  set  forth  in  a  pamphlet  of  fifty  pages,  bear- 


132  COUNT  KUMFORD. 

ing  the  following  lengthy  title  :  '  Proposals  for  forming 
by  subscription,  in  the  Metropolis  of  the  British  Empire, 
a  Public  Institution  for  diffusing  the  Knowledge  and 
facilitating  the  general  Introduction  of  Useful  Mechani- 
cal Inventions  and  Improvements,  and  for  teaching,  by 
courses  of  Philosophical  Lectures  and  Experiments,  the 
Application  of  Science  to  the  Common  Purposes  of  Life.' 
The  introduction  to  this  pamphlet  is  dated  from  Rum- 
ford's  residence  in  Brompton  Row,  March  4,  1799. 
His  aim,  he  alleges,  is  to  cause  science  and  art  to  work 
together ;  to  establish  relations  between  philosophers 
and  workmen  ;  to  bring  their  united  efforts  to  bear  in 
the  improvement  of  agriculture,  manufactures,  com- 
merce, and  the  augmentation  of  domestic  comforts. 
He  specially  dwells  on  the  management  of  fire,  it 
being,  as  he  thinks,  a  subject  of  peculiar  interest  to 
mankind.  Fuel,  he  asserted,  costs  the  kingdom  more 
than  ten  millions  sterling  annually,  which  was  much 
more  than  twice  what  it  ought  to  cost.  Eumford  knew 
human  nature  well,  and  for  the  greater  portion  of  hia 
life  knew  how  to  appeal  to  it  with  effect.  In  fact,  the 
knowledge  never  failed  him,  though  towards  the  end 
irritability,  due  to  ill-health  and  crosses  of  various  kinds, 
rendered  him  less  able  to  apply  the  knowledge  than 
when  he  was  in  the  blossom  of  his  prime.  As  regards 
the  success  of  his  new  scheme,  he  urged  upon  those 
with  whom  he  acted  the  necessity  of  making  the  indo- 
lent and  luxurious  take  an  interest  in  it.  Such  persons, 
he  says,  '  must  either  be  allured  or  shamed  into  action.' 
Hence,  he  urges,  the  necessity  of  making  benevolence 
'  fashionable.' 

It  ought  to  be  mentioned  that  Rumford,  at  this 
time,  could  count  on  the  sympathy  and  active  support 
of  a  number  of  excellent  men,  who,  in  advance  of  him, 
bad  founded  a  '  Society  for  Bettering  the  Condition  and 


COUNT  BUMFOBD.  133 

Increasing  the  Comforts  of  the  Poor.'  The  aid  of  the 
committee  of  this  society  was  now  sought.  It  was  agreed 
on  all  hands  that  the  proposed  new  Institution  would 
be  too  important  to  permit  of  its  being  made  an  ap- 
pendage to  any  other.  It  was  resolved  that  it  should 
stand  alone.  A  committee  consisting  of  eight  members 
of  the  above  society  was,  however,  appointed  to  confer 
with  Rumford  regarding  his  plan.  To  each  member  of 
this  committee  he  submitted  a  statement  of  his  views. 
These  are  in  part  set  forth  in  the  title  to  his  pamphlet 
already  quoted.  The  aim  of  the  Institution,  further- 
more, was  *  to  excite  a  spirit  of  improvement  among 
all  ranks  of  society,  and  to  afford  the  most  effectual 
assistance  to  those  who  are  engaged  in  the  various  pur- 
suits of  useful  industry.'  He  begged,  however,  that  His 
Majesty's  Ministers  might  be  informed  of  the  intention 
of  the  founders  of  the  Institution  to  accept  his  services. 
This  he  deemed  necessary  because  of  his  being,  in  the 
first  place,  a  subject  of  His  Majesty,  and  also,  by  His 
Majesty's  special  permission,  the  servant  of  a  foreign 
prince.  The  Government  was  to  be  fully  informed,  not 
only  as  to  the  general  aims,  but  also  of  the  details  of 
the  scheme.  Not  till  then  did  he  ask  for  the  counte- 
nance and  support  necessary  to  carry  it  into  execution. 
The  committee  met  and  ratified  Rumford's  pro- 
posals. They  agreed  that  subscribers  of  fifty  guineas 
each  should  be  the  perpetual  proprietors  of  the  Institu- 
tion ;  that  a  contribution  of  ten  guineas  should  secure 
the  privileges  of  a  life  subscriber ;  whilst  a  subscription 
of  two  guineas  should  constitute  an  annual  subscriber. 
Besides  other  important  rights,  each  proprietor  was  to 
receive  two  transferable  tickets,  admitting  him  to  every 
part  of  the  Institution,  and  to  all  the  lectures  and  expe- 
riments. Each  life  subscriber  was  to  receive  one  ticket, 
not  transferable,  securing  free  admission  to  every  part 


134  COUNT  RUMFOKD. 

of  the  establishment,  and  to  all  lectures  and  experi- 
ments. An  annual  subscriber  had  a  single  ticket  for  a 
single  year,  but  might  at  any  time  become  a  life  sub- 
scriber by  the  additional  payment  of  eight  guineas. 
The  managers,  nine  in  number,  were  to  be  chosen  by 
ballot  by  the  proprietors.  The  managers  were  to  be 
unpaid,  and,  without  any  pecuniary  advantage  to  them- 
selves, they  were  held  solemnly  pledged  to  the  faithful 
discharge  of  their  duties.  Three  were  to  constitute  a 
quorum,  but  in  special  cases  six  were  required.  A 
Committee  of  Visitors  was  also  appointed,  the  same  in 
number  as  the  Committee  of  Managers,  and  holding 
office  for  the  same  number  of  years. 

The  managers  were  to  devote  the  surplus  funds  of 
the  Institution  to  the  purchase  of  models  of  inventions 
and  improvements  in  the  mechanical  arts,  a  room  in 
the  Institution  being  devoted  to  the  reception  of  them. 
The  room  still  exists,  and,  though  diverted  from  its 
original  purpose,  is  still  called  '  the  Model  Room.' 
A  general  meeting  of  the  proprietors  was  held  at 
the  house  of  Sir  Joseph  Banks,  in  Soho  Square,  on 
March  7,  1799.  Fifty-eight  persons,  comprising  men 
of  distinction  in  science,  members  of  Parliament  and 
of  the  nobility,  including  one  bishop,  were  found  to 
have  qualified  as  proprietors  by  the  subscription  of 
fifty  guineas  each.  The  prelate  was  the  Bishop  of 
Durham.  The  Committee  of  Managers  was  chosen, 
and  they  held  their  first  meeting  at  the  house  of  Sir 
Joseph  Banks  on  March  9,  1799.  Mr.  Thomas  Ber- 
nard, one  of  the  most  active  members  of  the  society 
from  whose  committee  the  first  managers  were  chosen, 
was  appointed  Secretary.  To  Rumford  and  Bernard 
was  delegated  the  duty  of  preparing  a  draught  of  a 
charter ;  while  Earls  Morton  and  Spencer,  Sir  Joseph 
Banks,  and  Mr.  Pelham,  were  requested  *to  lay  the 


COUNT  BUMFORD.  135 

proposals  before  His  Majesty,  the  Royal  Family,  the 
Ministers,  the  great  officers  of  State,  the  members  of 
both  Houses  of  Parliament,  of  the  Privy  Council,  and 
before  the  twelve  judges.' 

On  January  13,  1800,  the  Royal  Seal  was  attached 
to  the  Charter  of  the  Institution.  In  the  same  year 
was  published,  in  quarto  form,  *  The  Prospectus,  Char- 
ter, Ordinance,  and  Bye-laws  of  the  Royal  Institution 
of  Great  Britain.'  The  King  was  its  Patron,  and  the 
first  officers  of  the  Institution  were  appointed  by  him. 
The  Earl  of  Winchilsea  was  President.  Lord  Morton, 
Lord  Egremont,  and  Sir  Joseph  Banks  were  Vice- 
Presidents.  The  managers,  chosen  by  sealed  ballot  by 
the  proprietors,  were  divided  into  three  classes  of  three 
each ;  the  first  class  serving  for  one,  the  second  for  two, 
and  the  third  for  three  years.  The  Earls  of  Bess- 
borough,  Egremont,  and  Morton,  respectively,  headed 
the  lists  of  the  three  classes.  Rumford  "himself  was 
appointed  to  serve  for  three  years.  The  three  lists  of 
Visitors  were  headed  by  the  Duke  of  Bridgewater, 
Viscount  Palmerston,  and  Earl  Spencer  respectively. 
That  Rumford  possessed  the  power  of  persuasion,  and 
the  infection  of  enthusiasm,  is  sufficiently  demonstrated 
by  this  powerful  list.  But  neither  persuasion  nor  en- 
thusiasm might  have  been  found  availing  had  not  his 
actual  achievements  in  Bavaria  occupied  the  back- 
ground. The  first  Professor  of  Natural  Philosophy  and 
Chemistry  was  Dr.  Thomas  Cfarnett,  while  the  first 
Treasurer  was  Mr.  Thomas  Bernard.  But  this  was  not 
enough.  A  home  and  foreign  secretary,  legal  counsel, 
a  solicitor  and  a  clerk,  were  added  to  the  list.  One 
rule  established  at  this  time  has  been  adhered  to  with 
great  fidelity  to  the  present  day.  No  political  subject 
was  to  be  mentioned  in  the  lectures. 

In  a  somewhat  florid  style  Rumford  (for  he  was 


138  COUNT  RUMFORD. 

obviously  the  writer)  descants  on  the  name  and  objects 
of  the  new  project.     The  word  Institution  is  chosen 
because  it  had  been  least  used  previously,  and  because 
it  best  indicates  the  objects  of  the  new  society.     The 
influence  of  the  mechanical  arts  on  the  progress  of 
civilisation  and  refinement  is  pointed  out.  and  illustrated 
by  reference  to  nations,  provinces,  towns,  and  even  vil- 
lages, which  thrive  in  proportion  to  the  activity  of  their 
industry.     *  Exertion  quickens  the  spirit  of  invention, 
makes  science   flourish,  and  increases  the  moral  and 
physical  powers  of  man.'     The  printing-press,  naviga- 
tion, gunpowder,  the  steam-engine,  are  referred  to  as 
having  changed  the  whole   course  of  human  affairs. 
The   slowness   with  which  improvements   make  their 
way  among  workmen  is  ascribed  to  the  influence  of 
habit,  prejudice,  suspicion,  jealousy,  dislike  of  change, 
and  the  narrowing  effect  of  the  subdivision   of  work 
into  many  petty  occupations.     But  slowness  is  also  due 
to  the  greed  for  wealth,  the  desire  for  monopoly,  the 
spirit  of  secret  intrigue  exhibited  among  manufacturers. 
Between  these  two  the  philosopher  steps  in,  whose  busi- 
ness it  is  '  to  examine  every  operation  of  Nature  and 
art,  and  to  establish  genei-al  theories  for  the  direction 
and  conducting  of  future  processes.'     But  philosophers 
may  become  dreamers,  and  they  have  therefore  habitu- 
ally to  be  called  back  to  the  study  of  practical  questions 
which  bear  upon  the  ordinary  pursuits  of  life.     Science 
and  practice  are  in  short  to  interact,  to  the  advantage 
of  both.     This  object  may  be  promoted  by  the  offering 
of  premiums,  after  the  manner  of  the  Society  of  Arts,1 
by  the  granting  of  patents ;  and,  finally,  by  the  method 
of  the  new  Institution — the  diffusion  of  the  knowledge 
of  useful  mechanical  inventions,  and  their  introduction 
Into  life. 

1  Founded  in  1763. 


COUNT  EUMFORD.  137 

One  of  the  first  practical  steps  taken  towards  the 
realisation  of  these  ideas  was  the  purchase  of  the  house, 
or  rather  houses,  in  Albemarle  Street  in  which  we  are 
now  assembled,  and  their  modification  to  suit  the  objects 
in  view.     Rumford's  obvious  intention  was  to  found  an 
Institute  of  Technology  and  Engineering.     Mere  de- 
scription was  not  sufficient.     He  demanded  something 
visible  and  tangible,  and  therefore  proposed  that  the 
Institution  should  be  made  a  repository  for  models  of 
all  useful  contrivances  and  improvements  :  cottage  fire- 
places and  kitchen  utensils ;  kitchens  for  farm-houses 
and  for  the  houses  of  gentlemen ;  a  laundry,  including 
boilers,  washing,  ironing,  and  drying-rooms ;  German, 
Swedish,  and  Russian  stoves  ;  open  chimney  fireplaces, 
with  ornamental  grates ;  ornamental  stoves ;   working 
models  *  of  that  most  curious  and  most  useful  machine, 
the  steam-engine ' ;  brewers'  boilers ;  distillers'  coppers ; 
condensers ;  large  boilers  for  hospitals ;  ventilating  appa- 
ratus in  hot-houses ;  lime-kilns  ;  steam-boilers  for  pre- 
paring food  for  stall-fed  cattle  ;  spinning-wheels  ;  looms  ; 
agricultural  implements  ;  bridges  of  various  construc- 
tions ;  human  food  ;  clothing ;  houses;  towns  ; fortresses; 
harbours ;     roads  ;    canals  ;     carriages  ;    ships  ;   tools  ; 
weapons;  &c.     Chemistry  was  to  be  applied  to  soils, 
tillage,  and  manures  ;  to  the  making  of  bread,  beer,  wine, 
spirits,  starch,  sugar,  butter,  and  cheese ;  to  the  pro- 
cesses of  dyeing,  calico-printing,  bleaching,  painting, 
and  varnishing ;  to  the  smelting  of  ores ;  the  formation 
of  alloys ;  to  mortars,  cements,  bricks,  pottery,  glass, 
and  enamels.     Above  all,  '  the  phenomena  of  light  and 
heat — those  great  powers  which  give  life  and  energy  to 
the  universe — powers  which,  by  the  wonderful  process 
of  combustion,  are  placed  under  the  command  of  human 
beings — will  engage  a  profound  interest.' 

In  reference  to  the  alleged  size  of  the  bed  of  Og,  the 


138  COUNT  RUMFORD. 

king  of  Basan,  Bishop  Watson  proposed  to  Tom  Paine 
the  problem  to  determine  the  bulk  to  which  a  human 
body  may  be  augmented  before  it  will  perish  by  its  own 
weight.  As  regards  the  projected  Institution,  Rumford 
surely  had  passed  this  limit,  and  by  the  ponderosity  of 
his  scheme  had  ensured  either  the  necessity  of  change 
or  the  certainty  of  death.  In  such  an  establishment 
Davy  was  sure  to  be  an  iconoclast.  He  cared  little  for 
models — not  even  for  the  apparatus  with  which  his  own 
best  discoveries  were  made,  but  incontinently  broke  it 
up  whenever  he  found  it  could  be  made  subservient  to 
further  ends.  * 

The' Journal  of  the  Eoyal  Institution '  was  established 
at  this  time,  and  published  under  Rumford's  direction. 
No  private  advertisements  were  to  appear  in  it,  but  it  was 
to  be  sold  for  threepence  when  its  contents  amounted 
to  eight  pages,  and  for  sixpence  when  they  amounted  to 
sixteen.  The  experiments  and  experimental  lectures  of 
Davy  were  then  attracting  attention.  Rumours  of  the 
young  chemist  reached  Rumford  through  Mr.  Under- 
wood and  Mr.  James  Thompson.  At  Rumford's  request 
Davy  came  to  London.  His  life  at  the  moment  was 
purely  a  land  of  promise,  but  Rumford  had  the  sagacity 
to  see  the  promise,  and  the  wisdom  to  act  upon  his  in- 
sight. Nor  was  his  judgmentrapidly  formed;  for  several 
interviews,  doubtless  meant  to  test  the  youth,  preceded 
his  announcement  to  Davy,  on  February  16, 1801,  of  the 
resolution  of  the  Managers,  '  That  Mr.  Humphry  Davy 
be  engaged  in  the  service  of  the  Royal  Institution,  in 
the  capacity  of  Assistant  Lecturer  in  Chemistry,  Direc- 
tor of  the  Chemical  Laboratory,  and  Assistant  Editor  of 
the  Journals  of  the  Institution ;  and  that  he  be  allowed 
to  occupy  a  room  in  the  house,  and  be  furnished  with 
coals  and  candles,  and  that  he  be  paid  a  salary  of  100 
guineas  per  annum.'  Rumford,  moreover,  held  out  to 


COUNT  KUMFOED.  139 

Davy  the  prospect,  if  he  devoted  himself  entirely  and 
permanently  to  the  Institution,  of  becoming,  in  the 
course  of  two  or  three  years,  full  Professor  of  Chemistry, 
with  a  salary  of  300Z.  per  annum,  '  provided,'  he  adds, 
'  that  within  that  period  you  shall  have  given  proofs  of 
your  fitness  to  hold  that  distinguished  situation.'  This 
promise  of  the  professorship  in  two  or  three  years  was 
ominous  for  Dr.  Garnett,  between  whom  and  the  Mana- 
gers differences  soon  arose  which  led  to  his  withdrawal 
from  the  Institution. 

Davy  began  his  duties  on  Wednesday,  March  11, 
1801.  He  was  allowed  the  room  adjoining  that  occu- 
pied by  Dr.  Garnett,  to  whom  he  was  to  refund  the 
expenses  incurred  in  furnishing  the  room.  The  com- 
mittee of  expenditure  paid  to  Dr.  Garnett  20l.  2s.  3d. 
for  a  new  Brussels  carpet,  and  \1l.  6s.  for  twelve  chairs, 
the  carpet  and  chairs  being  transferred  to  the  room 
occupied  by  the  Managers.  '  Count  Eumford  reported 
further  that  he  had  purchased  cheaper  a  second-hand 
carpet  for  Mr.  Davy's  room,  together  with  such  other 
articles  as  appeared  to  him  necessary  to  render  the 
room  habitable,  and  among  the  rest  a  new  sofa-bed, 
which,  in  order  that  it  may  serve  as  a  model  for  imita- 
tion, has  been  made  complete  in  all  its  parts.' 

The  name  of  a  man  who  has  no  superior  in  its  annals 
now  appears  for  the  first  time  in  connection  with  the 
Institution.  Here  also  the  sagacity  of  Kumford  was 
justified  by  events.  At  the  suggestion  of  Sir  Joseph 
Banks  he  had  an  interview  with  Dr.  Thomas  Youn^, 
destined  to  become  so  illustrious  as  the  decipherer  of 
the  Egyptian  hieroglyphics,  and,  by  the  discovery  of 
Interference,  the  founder  of  the  undulatory  theory  of 
light.  It  was  proposed  to  him,  by  Kumford,  to  accept 
an  engagement  as  Professor  of  Natural  Philosophy  in 
the  Institution,  as  Editor  of  its  Journals,  and  as  super- 
10 


140  COUNT  RUMFORD. 

intendent  of  the  house,  at  a  salary  of  300Z.  per  annum. 
Young  accepted  the  appointment,  and  the  Managers 
confirmed  it  by  resolution  on  August  3,  1801 : — 
'  Kesolved,  that  the  Managers  approve  of  the  measures 
taken  by  Count  Rumford ;  and  that  the  appointment  of 
Dr.  Young  be  confirmed.' 

Rumford's  health  fluctuated  perpetually,  and  it  was 
said  at  the  time  that  this  was  due  in  some  measure  to 
the  fanciful  notions  he  entertained,  and  acted  on,  with 
regard  to  diet  and  exercise.  But  Dr.  Young  affirms 
that  his  habits  in  these  respects  were  guided  by  his 
physicians. 

Many  years  ago,  wishing  to  supplement  my  know- 
ledge of  the  Turkish  bath,  I  referred  to  a  paper  of 
Rumford's  which  gave  an  account  of  a  visit  to  Harrogate 
and  his  experience  there.  According  to  the  rules  of  the 
place  he  had  his  bath  in  the  evening,  and  went  to  bed 
immediately  afterwards.  He  found  himself  restless  and 
feverish  ;  the  bath,  indeed,  seemed  to  do  him  more  harm 
than  good.  An  observant  fellow-lodger  had  made,  and 
had  corrected  the  same  experience.  Acting  on  his 
advice,  Rumford  took  his  bath  two  hours  before  dinner, 
engaging  afterwards  in  his  usual  work,  or  going  out  to 
have  a  blow  on  the  common.  So  far  from  suffering 
chill  from  this  exposure,  he  found  himself  invigorated 
by  it.  My  own  experience,  I  may  say,  corroborates  all 
this.  Rumford  took  the  senses  of  man  as  he  found 
them,  and  tried  to  enhance  the  gratifications  thence 
derived : — *  To  increase  the  pleasure  of  a  warm  bath 
he  suggests  the  burning  of  sweet-scented  woods  and 
aromatic  gums  and  resins  in  small  chafing-dishes  in  the 
bathing-rooms,  by  which  the  air  will  be  perfumed  with 
the  most  pleasant  odours.'  He  spiritedly  defends  this 
counsel : — '  Effeminacy  is  no  doubt  very  despicable, 
especially  in  a  person  who  aspires  to  the  character  and 


COUNT  RUMFOKD.  141 

virtues  of  a  man.  But  I  see  no  cause  for  calling  any- 
thing effeminate  which  has  no  tendency  to  diminish 
either  the  strength  of  the  body,  the  dignity  of  the 
sentiments,  or  the  energy  of  the  mind.  I  see  no  good 
reason  for  considering  those  grateful  aromatic  perfumes, 
which  in  all  ages  have  been  held  in  such  high  estima- 
tion, as  a  less  elegant  or  less  rational  luxury  than 
smoking  tobacco  or  stuffing  the  nose  with  snuff.' 

Kumford,  for  a  year  or  so,  occupied  rooms  in  the 
Institution,  but  his  private  residence  was  in  Brompton 
Row,  described  by  his  friend  Pictet  as  being  about  a  mile 
from  London.  Grass  and  trees  grew  in  front  of  the 
house.  The  windows  had  a  double  glazing,  and  outside 
were  placed  vases  of  flowers  and  odorous  shrubs.  Pictet, 
who  was  Rumford's  guest  in  1801,  minutely  describes 
the  whole  arrangement  of  the  house.  Into  Rumford's 
working-room,  which  overlooked  the  country,  the  light 
came  through  a  set  of  windows  arranged  on  the  arc  of  a 
circle.  The  window-sills  were  arranged  with  flowers 
and  shrubs,  so  that  you  might  suppose  yourself  to  be  in 
the  country,  close  to  a  garden  bordered  by  a  park. 
Pictet  goes  on  to  describe  the  various  strokes  of  inge- 
nuity shown  in  the  management  of  the  fuel  and  fire- 
places. The  beds,  moreover,  were  disguised  as  elegant 
sofas.  Under  each  sofa  were  two  deep  drawers  contain- 
ing the  bedding  and  other  night-gear,  all  of  which 
were  hidden  by  a  fringed  valance.  At  night  the  sofa 
was  converted  in  a  few  minutes  into  an  excellent  bed, 
while  in  the  morning,  with  equal  rapidity,  the  bed  was 
transformed  into  an  ornamental  piece  of  furniture. 
Pictet  occupied  one-half  of  the  charming  dwelling. 
Perfect  freedom  was  given  and  enjoyed,  and  the  learned 
Genevese  always  tried  to  arrange  his  day's  work  so  that 
he  might,  if  possible,  engage  his  friend  on  some  subject 
of  research  common  to  them  both* 


142  COUNT  RUMFORD. 

A  portion  of  the  motive  force  of  a  man  of  Rumfor  1*8 
temperament  may  be  described  as  irritability.  During 
the  possession  of  physical  vigour  and  sound  health,  this 
force  is  held  firmly  by  the  will  and  directed  by  intelli- 
gence and  tact.  But  when  health  slackens  and  physical 
vigour  subsides,  irritability  often  becomes  an  energy 
wanting  adequate  control.  Rumford's  success  in 
managing  all  manner  of  men  in  Bavaria  illustrates  his 
pliancy  as  much  as  his  strength.  But  before  he  started 
the  Royal  Institution  his  health  had  given  way,  and 
1  tern  per,'  it  is  to  be  feared,  bad  got  the  upper  hand. 
In  point  of  intellect,  moreover,  he  came  then  into  con- 
tact with  people  of  larger  calibre  and  more  varied  accom- 
plishments than  he  had  previously  met.  He  could 
hardly  count  upon  the  entire  sympathy  of  Young  and 
Davy,  though  I  believe  he  remained  on  friendly  terms 
with  them  to  the  end.  They  were  gems  of  a  different 
water,  if  I  may  use  the  term,  from  Rumford.  The  chief 
object  of  his  fostering  care  was  mechanical  invention, 
as  applied  to  the  uses  of  life.  The  pleasures  of  both 
Young  and  Davy  lay  in  another  sphere.  To  them 
science  was  an  end,  not  a  means  to  an  end.  The  get- 
ting at  the  mind  of  Nature,  and  the  revealing  of  that 
mind  in  great  theories,  were  the  objects  of  their  efforts, 
and  formed  the  occupation  of  their  lives.  Had  they 
been  as  enthusiastic  as  Rumford  himself  in  Rumford's 
own  direction,  the  three  united  would  probably  have 
daunted  opposition,  and  for  a  somewhat  longer  time 
endeavoured  to  realise  Rumford's  dream.  But  differ- 
ences arose  between  him  and  the  other  Managers.  '  It 
is  very  clear  to  me,'  writes  Dr.  Bence  Jones  to  Dr. 
Ellis,  *  that  Count  Rumford  fell  out  with  Mr.  Bernard 
and  with  Sir  John  Hippesley.  The  fact  was  that  Rum- 
ford's  idea  of  workshops  and  kitchen,  industrial  school, 
mechanics'  institution,  model  exhibition,  social  club- 


COUNT  EUMFOBD.  143 

house,  and  scientific  committees  to  do  everything,  waa 
much  too  big  and  unworkable  for  a  private  body,  and 
was  fitted  only  for  an  absolute  and  wealthy  Grovern merit.' 
In  1803  Dr.  Bence  Jones  informs  us  that  difficulties 
were  gathering  round  the  Institution,  and  it  was  even 
proposed  to  sell  it  off.  Rumford  had  quitted  Londoa 
and  gone  to  Paris.  By  Davy's  aid,  Mr.  Bernard  and 
Sir  John  Hippesley  carried  on  the  work,  but  in  a 
fashion  different  from  that  contemplated  by  Rumford 
— that  is  to  say,  4  without  workshops,  or  mechanics' 
institute,  or  kitchen,  or  model  exhibition.'  The  place 
of  these  was  taken  by  experimental  and  theoretical  re- 
searches, which,  instead  of  dealing  with  things  already 
achieved,  carried  the  mind  into  unexplored  regions  of 
Nature,  forgetful,  if  not  neglectful,  whether  the  dis- 
coveries made  in  that  region  had  or  had  not  a  bearing 
on  the  arts,  comforts,  or  necessities  of  material  life. 

Eumford  and  his  Institution  had  to  bear  the  brunt 
of  ridicule,  and  he  felt  it ;  but  men  of  ready  wit  have 
not  abstained  from  exercising  it  on  societies  of  greater 
age  and  higher  claims.  Shafts  of  sarcasm  without 
number  have  been  launched  at  the  Royal  Society.  It 
is  perfectly  natural  for  persons  who  have  little  taste  for 
scientific  inquiry  and  less  knowledge  of  the  methods  of 
Nature,  to  feel  amused,  if  not  scandalised,  by  the  ap- 
parently insignificant  subjects  which  sometimes  occupy 
the  scientific  mind.  They  are  not  aware  that  in 
science  the  most  stupendous  phenomena  often  find  their 
suggestion  and  interpretation  in  the  most  minute — 
that  the  smallest  laboratory  fact  is  connected  by  in- 
dissoluble ties  with  the  grandest  operations  of  Nature. 
Thus,  the  iridescences  of  the  common  soap-bubble, 
subjected  to  scientific  analysis,  have  emerged  in  the 
conclusion  that  stellar  space  is  a  plenum  filled  with  a 
material  substance,  capable  of  transmitting  motion 


144  COUNT  RUMFORD. 

with  a  rapidity  which  would  girdle  the  equatorial  earth 
eight  times  in  a  second ;  while  the  tremors  of  this  sub- 
stance, in  one  form,  constitute  what  we  call  light,  and, 
in  all  forms  constitute  what  we  call  radiant  heat.  Not 
seeing  this  connection  between  great  and  small;  not 
discerning  that  as  regards  the  illustration  of  physical 
principles  there  is  no  great  and  no  small,  the  wits,  con- 
sidering the  small  contemptible,  permitted  sarcasm  to 
flow.  But  these  things  have  passed  away,  otherwise  it 
would  not  be  superfluous  to  remind  this  audience,  as 
a  case  in  point,  that  the  splendour  which  in  the  form 
of  the  electric  light  now  falls  upon  our  squares  and 
thoroughfares,  has  its  germ  and  ancestry  in  a  spark 
so  feeble  as  to  be  scarcely  visible  when  first  revealed 
within  the  walls  of  this  Institution. 

It  is  with  reluctance  that  I  take  the  slightest  ex- 
ception to  what  my  American  friends  have  written 
regarding  Eumford  and  his  achievements.  But  what 
they  have  written  induces  me  to  assure  them  that  the 
scientific  men  of  England  are  not  prone  to  stinginess 
in  recognising  the  merits  of  their  fellow-labourers  in 
other  lands ;  and  had  Eumford,  instead  of  accom- 
plishing none  of  his  work  in  the  land  of  his  birth, 
accomplished  the  whole  of  it  there,  his  recognition 
among  us  here  would  not  be  less  hearty  than  it  is  now. 
As  things  stand,  national  prejudice,  if  it  existed,  might 
be  expected  to  lean  to  Eumford's  side.  But  no  such 
prejudice  exists,  and  to  write  as  if  it  did  exist  is  a 
mistake.  In  reference  to  myself,  Dr.  Ellis,  gently  but 
still  reproachfully,  makes  the  following  remark :  — 
'  Professor  Tyndall,  in  his  work  on  "  Heat,"  has  but 
moderately  recognised  the  claims  and  merit  of  Eum- 
ford, when,  after  largely  quoting  from  his  essay,  he  adds, 
"  When  the  history  of  the  dynamical  theory  of  heat  is 


COUNT  EUMFORD.  145 

written,  the  man  who,  in  opposition  to  the  scientific 
belief  of  his  time,  could  experiment,  and  reason  upon 
experiment,  as  did  Rumford  in  the  investigation  here 
referred  to,  cannot  be  lightly  passed  over." '  In  my 
opinion,  the  most  dignified  and  impressive  way  of 
dealing  with  labours  like  those  of  Rumford,  is  to  show 
by  simple  quotations,  well  selected,  what  their  merits 
are.  This  I  did  in  the  book  referred  to  by  Dr.  Ellis, 
which  was  published  at  least  eight  years  in  advance  of 
his.  But  the  expression  of  my  admiration  for  Rum- 
ford  was  not  confined  to  the  passage  above-quoted, 
which  is  taken  from  the  appendix  to  one  of  my  lec- 
tures. In  that  lecture  I  drew  attention  to  Rumford's 
labours  in  the  following  words  : — *  I  have  particular 
pleasure  in  directing  the  reader's  attention  to  an  ab- 
stract of  Count  Rumford's  memoir  on  the  generation 
of  heat  by  friction,  contained  in  the  appendix  to  this 
lecture.  Rumford  in  this  memoir  annihilates  the  mate- 
rial theory  of  heat.  Nothing  more  powerful  on  the 
subject  has  since  been  written.' 

But  I  must  not  go  too  far,  nor  suffer  myself  to  dwell 
with  one-sided  exclusiveness  upon  the  merits  of  Rum- 
ford.  The  theoretic  conceptions  with  which  he  dealt 
were  not  his  conceptions,  but  had  been  the  property  of 
science  long  prior  to  his  day.  This,  I  fear,  was  for- 
gotten when  the  following  claim  for  Rumford  was  made 
by  a  writer  who  has  done  excellent  service  in  diffusing 
sound  science  among  the  people  of  the  United  States : 1 — 
'He  was  the  man  who  first  took  the  question  of  the 
nature  of  heat  out  of  the  domain  of  metaphysics,  where 
it  had  been  speculated  upon  since  the  time  of  Aristotle, 
and  placed  it  upon  the  true  basis  of  physical  experi- 
ment.' The  writer  of  this  passage  could  hardly,  when 

1  The  late  Dr.  Youman*. 


146  COUNT  RTJMFOKD. 

he  wrote  it,  have  been  acquainted  with  the  experiments 
and  the  reasonings  of  Boyle  and  Hooke,  of  Leibnitz 
and  Locke.  As  regards  the  nature  of  heat,  these  men 
were  quite  as  far  removed  from  metaphysical  subtleties 
as  Eumford  himself.  They  regarded  heat  as  '  a  very 
brisk  agitation  of  the  insensible  parts  of  an  object 
which  produces  in  us  that  sensation  from  whence  we 
denominate  the  object  hot;  so  what  in  our  sensation 
is  heat,  in  the  object  is  nothing  but  motion.'  Locke, 
from  whom  I  here  quote,  and  who  merely  expresses 
the  ideas  previously  enunciated  by  Boyle  and  Hooke, 
gives  his  reasons  for  holding  this  theoretic  conception^ 
'  This,'  he  says,  '  appears  by  the  way  heat  is  produced, 
for  we  see  that  the  rubbing  of  a  brass  nail  upon  a 
board  will  make  it  very  hot ;  and  the  axle-trees  of  carts 
and  coaches  are  often  hot,  and  sometimes  to  a  degree 
that  it  sets  them  on  fire,  by  the  rubbing  of  the  naves 
of  the  wheels  upon  them.  On  the  other  side,  the  ut- 
most degree  of  cold  is  the  cessation  of  that  motion  of 
the  insensible  particles  which  to  our  touch  is  heat.' 
The  precision  of  this  statement  could  not,  within  its 
limits,  be  exceeded  at  the  present  day. 

There  is  a  curious  resemblance,  moreover,  between 
one  of  the  experiments  of  Boyle,  and  the  most  cele- 
brated experiment  of  Rumford.  Boyle  employed  three 
men,  accustomed  to  the  work,  to  hammer  nimbly  a 
piece  of  iron.  They  made  the  metal  so  hot,  that  it 
could  not  be  safely  touched.  As  in  the  case  of  Rum- 
ford,  people  were  looking  on  at  this  experiment,  and 
Boyle's  people,  like  those  of  Rumford,  were  struck 
with  wonder,  to  see  the  sulphur  of  gunpowder  ignited 
by  heat  produced  without  any  fire.  Hooke  is  equally 
clear  as  regards  the  nature  of  heat,  and  like  Rumford 
himself,  but  more  than  a  century  before  him,  he  com- 
pares the  vibrations  of  heat  with  sonorous  vibrations. 


COUNT  RUMFORD.  147 

That  Rumford  went  beyond  these  men  is  not  to  be 
denied.  It  could  not  be  otherwise  with  a  spirit  so 
original  and  penetrating.  But  to  speak  of  the  space 
between  him  and  Aristotle  as  if  it  were  a  scientific 
vacuum  is  surely  a  mistake. 

While  in  Paris,  Rumford  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Madame  Lavoisier,  a  lady  of  wealth,  spirit,  and  social 
distinction  ;  and,  it  is  to  be  added,  a  lady  of  temper.  Her 
illustrious  husband  had  suffered  under  the  guillotine 
on  May  8,  1794;  and  inheriting  his  great  name,  to- 
gether with  a  fortune  of  three  million  francs,  she 
gathered  round  her,  in  her  receptions,  the  most  dis 
tinguished  society  of  Paris.  She  and  Rumford  became 
friends,  the  friendship  afterwards  passing  into  what  was 
thought  to  be  genuine  affection.  The  Elector  of  Bavaria 
took  great  interest  in  Rumford's  projected  marriage, 
and  when  that  consummation  came  near,  settled  upon 
him  an  annuity  of  4,000  florins.  Before  their  mar- 
riage he  was  joined  by  Madame  Lavoisier  at  Munich, 
whence  they  made  a  tour  to  Switzerland.  In  a  letter 
to  his  daughter  he  thus  describes  his  bride-elect :  *  I 
made  the  acquaintance  of  this  very  amiable  woman 
in  Paris,  who,  I  believe,  would  have  no  objection  to 
having  me  for  a  husband,  and  who  in  all  respects 
would  be  a  proper  match  for  me.  She  is  a  widow 
without  children,  never  having  had  any;  is  about  my 
own  age  [she  was  four  years  younger  than  Rumford], 
enjoys  good  health,  is  very  pleasant  in  society,  has  a 
handsome  fortune  at  her  own  disposal,  enjoys  a  most  re- 
spectable reputation,  keeps  a  good  house,  which  is 
frequented  by  all  the  first  philosophers  and  men  of 
eminence  in  4,he  science  and  literature  of  the  age,  or 
rather  of  Paris ;  and,  what  is  more  than  all  the  rest, 
is  goodness  itself.'  He  goes  on  to  describe  her  a& 


148  COUNT  KUMFOBD. 

having  been  very  handsome  in  her  day,  *  and  even  no\» 
at  forty-six  or  forty-eight  is  not  bad-looking.'  He 
describes  her  as  rather  embonpoint,  with  a  great  deal 
of  vivacity,  and  as  writing  incomparably  well. 

Before  the  marriage  could  take  place  he  was 
obliged  to  obtain  from  America  certificates  of  his  birth, 
and  of  the  death  of  his  former  wife.  All  preliminaries 
having  been  arranged,  Count  Kumford  and  Madame 
Lavoisier  were  married  in  Paris,  on  October  24,  1805. 
He  describes  the  house  in  which  they  lived,  Hue 
d'Anjou,  No.  39,  as  a  paradise.  '  Eemoved  from  the 
noise  and  bustle  of  the  street,  facing  full  to  the  south, 
in  the  midst  of  a  beautiful  garden  of  more  than  two 
acres,  well  planted  with  trees  and  shrubbery.  The 
entrance  from  the  street  is  through  an  iron  gate  by  a 
beautiful  winding  avenue  well  planted,  and  the  porter's 
lodge  is  by  the  side  of  this  gate ;  a  great  bell  to  be 
rung  in  case  of  ceremonious  visits.'  Long  after  this 
event  Rumford's  daughter  commented  on  it  thus: — 
'It  seems  there  had  been  an  acquaintance  between 
these  parties  of  four  years  before  the  marriage.  It 
might  be  thought  a  long  space  of  time  for  perfect  ac- 
quaintance. But,  "  ah  Providence  !  thy  ways  are  past 
finding  out." ' 

In  a  letter  written  to  his  daughter  two  months  after 
his  marriage,  he  describes  their  style  of  living  as  really 
magnificent ;  his  wife  as  exceedingly  fond  of  company, 
in  the  midst  of  which  she  makes  a  splendid  figure. 
She  seldom  went  out,  but  kept  open  house  to  all  the 
great  and  worthy.  He  describes  their  dinners  and 
evening  teas,  which  must  have  been  trying  to  a  man 
who  longed  for  quiet.  He  could  have  borne  the  din- 
ners, but  the  teas  and  their  gossip  annoyed  him. 
Instead  of  living  melodious  days,  his  life  gradually  be- 
came a  discord,  and  on  January  15,  1806,  he  confides 


COUNT  BUMFOBD.  149 

to  his  daughter,  as  a  family  secret,  that  he  is  '  not  at 
all  sure  that  two  certain  persons  were  not  wholly  mis- 
taken in  their  marriage  as  to  each  other's  charac- 
ter.' The  denouement  hastened ;  and  on  the  first 
anniversary  of  his  marriage  he  writes  thus  to  his 
daughter: — 'My  dear  child,  — This  being  the  first  year's 
anniversary  of  my  marriage,  from  what  I  wrote  two 
months  after  it  you  will  be  curious  to  know  how  things 
stand  at  present.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  experience 
only  serves  to  confirm  me  in  the  belief  that  in  charac- 
ter and  natural  propensities  Madame  de  Kumford  and 
myself  are  totally  unlike,  and  never  ought  to  have 
thought  of  marrying.  We  are,  besides,  both  too  in- 
dependent in  our  sentiments  and  habits  of  life  to 
live  peaceably  together — she  having  been  mistress  all 
her  days  of  her  actions,  and  I,  with  no  less  liberty, 
leading  for  the  most  part  the  life  of  a  bachelor.  Very 
likely  she  is  as  much  disaffected  towards  me  as  I  am 
towards  her.  Little  it  matters  with  me,  but  I  call  her 
a  female  dragon — simply  by  that  gentle  name  I  We 
have  got  to  the  pitch  of  my  insisting  on  one  thing  and 
she  on  another.' 

On  the  second  anniversary  of  his  marriage,  matters 
were  worse.  The  quarrels  between  him  and  Madame 
had  become  more  violent  and  open,  and  having  used 
the  word  quarrels  to  his  daughter,  he  gives  the  follow- 
ing sample  of  them : — '  I  am  almost  afraid  to  tell  you 
the  story,  my  good  child,  lest  in  future  you  should  not 
be  good ;  lest  what  I  am  about  relating  should  set  you 
a  bad  example,  make  you  passionate,  and  so  on.  But 
I  had  been  made  very  angry.  A  large  party  had  been 
invited  I  neither  liked  nor  approved  of,  and  invited  for 
the  sole  purpose  of  vexing  me.  Our  house  being  in 
the  centre  of  the  garden,  walled  around,  with  iron 
gates,  I  put  on  my  hat,  walked  down  to  the  porter'a 


150  COUNT  RUMFOBD. 

lodge,  and  gave  him  orders,  on  his  peril,  not  to  let 
any  one  in.  Besides,  I  took  away  the  keys.  Madame 
went  down,  and  when  the  company  arrived,  she  talked 
with  them, — she  on  one  side,  they  on  the  other,  of  the 
high  brick  wall.  After  that  she  goes  and  pours  boiling 
water  on  some  of  my  beautiful  flowers.' 

Six  months  later,  the  sounds  of  lamentation  and 
woe  are  continued.  There  was  no  alteration  for  the 
better.  He  thought  of  separation,  but  the  house  and 
garden  in  the  Rue  d'Anjou  being  a  joint  concern,  legal 
difficulties  arose  as  to  the  division  of  it.  '  I  have  suf- 
fered,' he  says  to  his  daughter,  *  more  than  you  can 
imagine  for  the  last  four  weeks;  but  my  rights  are 
incontestable,  and  I  am  determined  to  maintain  them. 
I  have  the  misfortune  to  be  married  to  one  of  the 
most  imperious,  tyrannical,  unfeeling  women  that  ever 
existed,  and  whose  perseverance  in  pursuing  an  object 
is  equal  to  her  profound  cunning  and  wickedness  in 
framing  it.'  He  purposed  taking  a  house  at  Auteuil. 
It  would  be  unfortunate  if,  notwithstanding  all  the 
bounties  of  the  King  of  Bavaria,  he  could  not  live 
more  independently  than  with  this  unfeeling,  cunning, 
tyrannical  woman.  '  Alas  !  little  do  we  know  people 
at  first  sight !  Do  you  preserve  my  letters  ?  You  will 
perceive  that  I  have  given  very  different  accounts  of 
this  woman,  for  lady  I  cannot  call  her.'  He  describes 
his  habitation  as  no  longer  the  abode  of  peace.  He 
breakfasts  alone  in  his  apartment,  while  to  his  infinite 
chagrin  most  of  the  visitors  are  his  wife's  determined 
adherents.  He  is  sometimes  present  at  her  tea-parties, 
but  finds  little  to  amuse  him.  'I  have  waited,'  he 
says  (which  we  may  doubt),  '  with  great,  I  may  say 
unexampled  patience,  for  a  return  of  reason  and  a 
change  of  conduct,  but  I  am  firmly  resolved  not  to  be 
driven  from  my  ground,  not  even  by  disgust.  A  sepa- 


COUNT  BUMFORD.  151 

ration,'  he  adds,  *  is  unavoidable,  for  it  would  be  highly 
improper  for  me  to  continue  with  a  person  who  has 
given  me  so  many  proofs  of  her  implacable  hatred  and 
malice.' 

The  lease  of  the  villa  at  Auteuil  was  purchased  by 
Rumford  in  1808.  The  separation  between  him  and 
his  wife  took  place  *  amicably'  on  the  13th  of  June* 
1809.  Ever  afterwards,  however,  anger  rankled  in  his 
heart.  He  never  mentions  his  wife  but  in  terms  of 
repugnance  and  condemnation.  His  release  from  her  fills 
him  with  unnatural  jubilation.  On  the  fourth  anni- 
versary of  his  wedding-day  he  writes  to  his  daughter : — 
'  I  make  choice  of  this  day  to  write  to  you,  in  reality  to 
testify  joy,  but  joy  that  I  am  away  from  her.'  On 
the  fifth  anniversary  he  writesthus : — *  You  will  perceive 
that  this  is  the  anniversary  of  my  marriage.  I  am 
happy  to  call  it  to  mind  that  I  may  compare  my  present 
situation  with  the  three  and  a  half  horrible  years  I 
was  living  with  that  tyrannical,  avaricious,  unfeeling 
woman.'  The  closing  six  months  of  his  married  life  he 
describes  as  a  purgatory  sufficiently  painful  to  do  away 
with  the  sins  of  a  thousand  years.  Rumford,  in  fact, 
writes  with  the  bitterness  of  a  defeated  man.  His  wife 
retained  her  friends,  while  he,  who  a  short  time  pre- 
viously had  been  the  observed  of  all  observers,  found 
himself  practically  isolated.  This  was  a  new  and  bitter 
experience,  the  thought  of  which,  pressing  on  him  con- 
tinually, destroyed  all  magnanimity  in  his  references 
to  her. 

From  1772  to  1800,  Rumford's  house  at  Auteuil 
had  been  the  residence  of  the  widow  of  a  man  highly 
celebrated  in  his  day  as  a  freethinker,  but  whom  Lange 
describes  as  '  the  vain  and  superficial  Helvetius.'  It  is 
also  the  house  in  which,  in  the  month  of  January  1870, 
the  young  journalist  Victor  Noir  was  shot  dead  by  Prince 


152  COUNT  EUMFORD. 

Pierre  Bonaparte.  Here,  towards  the  end  of  1811,  the 
Count  was  joined  by  his  daughter.  They  found  pleasure 
in  each  other's  company,  but  the  affection  between  them 
does  not  appear  to  have  been  intense.  In  his  conversa- 
tions with  her  the  source  of  his  bitterness  appears.  *  I 
have  not,'  he  says,  *  deserved  to  have  so  many  enemies  ; 
but  it  is  all  from  coming  into  France,  and  forming  this 
horrible  connection.  I  believe  that  woman  was  born  to 
be  the  torment  of  my  life.'  The  house  and  gardens  were 
beautiful ;  tufted  woods,  winding  paths,  grapes  in  abund- 
ance, and  fifty  kinds  of  roses.  Notwithstanding  his 
hostility  to  his  wife,  he  permitted  her  to  visit  him  on 
apparently  amicable  terms.  The  daughter  paints  her 
character  as  admirable,  ascribing  their  differences  to 
individual  independence  arising  from  having  been  accus- 
tomed to  rule  in  their  respective  ways  :  *  It  was  a  fine 
match,  could  they  but  have  agreed.'  One  day  in  driving 
out  with  her  father,  she  remarked  to  him  how  odd  it 
was  that  he  and  his  wife  could  not  get  on  together, 
when  they  seemed  so  friendly  to  each  other,  adding  that 
it  struck  her  that  Madame  de  Eumford  could  not  be  in 
her  right  mind.  He  replied  bitterly,  'Her  mind  is, 
as  it  has  ever  been,  to  act  differently  from  what  she 
appears.' 

The  statesman  Gruizot  was  one  of  Madame  de 
Kumford's  most  intimate  friends,  and  his  account  of  her 
and  her  house  is  certainly  calculated  to  modify  the 
account  of  both  given  by  her  husband.  Kumford  became 
her  guest  at  a  time  when  he  enjoyed  in  public  'a  splendid 
scientific  popularity.  His  spirit  was  lofty,  his  conversa- 
tion was  full  of  interest,  and  his  manners  were  marked 
by  gentle  kindness.  He  made  himself  agreeable  to 
Madame  Lavoisier.  He  accorded  with  her  habits,  her 
tastes,  one  might  almost  say  with  her  reminiscences, 


COUNT  RUMFORD.  153 

....  She  married  him,  happy  to  offer  to  a  dis- 
tinguished man  a  great  fortune  and  a  most  agreeable 
existence.'  Guizot,  who  writes  thus,  goes  on  to  state 
that  their  characters  and  temperaments  were  incom- 
patible. They  had  both  grown  to  maturity  accustomed 
to  independence,  which  it  is  not  always  easy  even  for 
tender  affection  to  stifle.  The  lady  had  stipulated,  on 
her  second  marriage,  that  she  should  be  permitted  to 
retain  the  name  of  Lavoisier,  calling  herself  Madame 
Lavoisier  de  Rumford.  This  proved  disagreeable  to 
the  Count,  but  she  was  not  to  be  moved  from  her  de- 
termination to  retain  the  name.  '  I  have,'  she  says, 
*  at  the  bottom  of  my  heart  a  profound  conviction  that 
M.  de  Rumford  will  not  disapprove  of  me  for  it,  and 
that  on  taking  time  for  reflection,  he  will  permit  me 
to  continue  to  fulfil  a  duty  which  I  regard  as  sacred.' 
Guizot  adds  that  the  hope  proved  deceptive,  and  that 
'  after  some  domestic  agitations,  which  M.  de  Rumford, 
with  more  of  tact,  might  have  kept  from  becoming 
so  notorious,  a  separation  became  necessary.'  Guizot 
describes  her  dinners  and  receptions  during  the  re- 
maining twenty-seven  years  of  her  life  as  delightful. 
Cultivated  intellects,  piquant  and  serious  conversation, 
excellent  music,  freedom  of  mind  and  tongue,  without 
personal  antagonism  or  political  bias, '  license  of  thought 
and  speech  without  any  distrust  or  disquiet  as  to  what 
Authority  might  judge  or  say — a  privilege  then  more 
precious  than  any  one  to-day  imagines,  just  as  one  who 
has  breathed  under  an  air-pump  can  best  appreciate 
the  delight  of  free  respiration.'  One  cannot,  however, 
forget  the  pouring  of  boiling  water  over  the  *  beautiful 
flowers.' 

The  *  Gentleman's  Magazine '  for  1814  describes  the 
•collision   in  which  Rumford's   later  days  were  spent. 


154  COUNT  RUMFORD. 

After  the  death  of  the  illustrious  Lagrange,  he  saw  but 
two  or  three  friends,  nor  did  he  attend  the  meetings 
of  the  National  Institute,  of  which  he  was  a  member. 
Cuvier  was  then  its  perpetual  secretary,  and  for  him 
Rumford  entertained  the  highest  esteem.  He  differed 
from  Laplace  on  the  question  of  *  surface-tension,'  and 
dissent  from  a  man  then  standing  so  high  in  the  mathe- 
matical world  was  probably  not  without  its  penal  con- 
sequences. Rumford  always  congratulated  himself  on 
having  brought  forward  two  such  celebrated  men  as  the 
Bavarian  general  Wieden,  who  was  originally  a  lawyer 
or  land  steward,  and  Sir  Humphry  Davy.  The  German, 
French,  Spanish,  and  Italian  languages  were  as  familiar 
to  the  Count  as  English.  He  played  billiards  against 
himself;  he  was  fond  of  chess,  which  however  made  his 
feet  like  ice  and  his  head  like  fire.  The  designs  of  his 
inventions  were  drawn  by  himself  with  great  skill ;  but 
hfe  had  no  knowledge  of  painting  and  sculpture,  and  but 
little  feeling  for  them.  He  had  no  taste  for  poetry,  but 
great  taste  for  landscape-gardening.  In  later  life  his 
habits  wer«  most  abstemious,  and  it  is  said  that  his 
strength  was  in  this  way  so  reduced  as  to  render  him 
unable  to  resist  his  last  illness.  After  three  days'  suf- 
fering from  nervous  fever  he  succumbed  on  August  21, 
1814,  when  he  was  on  the  eve  of  returning  to  England. 
He  was  buried  in  the  small  cemetery  of  Auteuil,  which 
has  since  been  disused  as  a  place  of  burial.  The  grave, 
says  Dr.  Ellis,  is  marked  by  a  horizontal  stone — une 
pierre  tumulaire — and  by  a  perpendicular  monument 
6  feet  high,  6  feet  in  breadth,  and  3£  feet  in  thickness. 
Both  are  of  marble,  and  bear  inscriptions  as  follows. 
That  on  the  monument  is : — 


COUNT  RUMFORD.  155 

A  la  Memoire 

de 
BENJAMIN  THOMPSOH, 

Comte  de  Rumford, 
n6  en  1753,  &  Concord '  pres  Boston, 

en  Amerique, 
mort  le  21  Aout,  1814,  &  AuteuiL 

Physicien  c61£bre, 

Philanthrope  §clair6, 

ses  decouver'.es  sur  la  lumiere 

et  la  chaleur 

ont  illnstre  son  nom. 

Bes  travaux  pour  ameliorer 

le  sort  des  pauvres 
le  feront  toujours  cherl 
des  amis  de  I'humanitfi. 

The  flat  stone  is  thus  inscribed : — 

En  Baviere 
Lieutenant  General, 
Chef  de  1'Etat-Major  General, 

Conseiller  d'Etat, 
Ministre  de  la  Guerre. 

En  France 

Membre  de  1'Institut, 
Academie  des  Sciences. 


KUMFORD'S  SCIENTIFIC  WORK. 

As  a  factor  in  human  affairs,  Rumford  ascribed  to 
gunpowder  a  dominant  importance.  No  other  invention 
had  exercised  so  great  an  influence.  Hence  the  arduous 
labour  he  expended  in  determining  its  action.  At 
Stoneland  Lodge,  the  country  seat  of  Lord  George 
Germain,  in  the  year  1778,  his  inquiries  into  the 
force  and  applications  of  gunpowder  began.  He  directed 
his  attention  to  the  position  of  the  vent,  the  weight  and 
pressure  of  the  charge,  its  bursting  power,  the  quickness 
of  combustion,  the  weight  and  velocity  of  the  projectile, 
the  effect  of  windage,  and  to  many  other  matters  of  in- 
terest to  the  gunner.  On  all  these  questions  he  threw 

1  Ought  to  be  Woburn. 
11 


156  COUNT  RUMFORD. 

important  light.  The  velocity  was  determined  in  two 
ways:  first,  by  the  ballistic  pendulum,  invented  by 
his  predecessor  and  namesake,  Benjamin  Robins ;  and 
secondly,  from  the  recoil  of  the  gun  itself.  The  ballistic 
pendulum  is  a  heavy  mass,  so  suspended  as  to  be  capable 
of  free  oscillation.  Against  it  the  bullet  is  projected, 
and  from  the  weight  of  the  bullet,  the  weight  of  the 
pendulum,  and  the  arc,  or  distance,  through  which  it  is 
urged  by  the  bullet,  the  velocity  of  the  latter  may  be 
calculated. 

To  determine  the  recoil  of  the  gun,  he  had  it  sus- 
pended by  a  bifilar  arrangement,  which  permitted  it  to 
swing  back  when  it  was  fired.  Action  and  reaction  being 
equal,  the  momentum  of  the  gun  was  the  momentum  of 
the  bullet  on  leaving  the  gun,  and  from  the  weight  of 
the  piece,  and  the  arc  of  recoil,  the  velocity  of  the  bullet 
was  computed.  The  agreement  between  the  results 
obtained  by  these  two  methods  was  in  many  cases  re- 
markable. Until  quite  recently,  Rumford's  experiments 
on  the  force  of  gunpowder  were  considered  to  be  the 
best  extant.  A  mind  so  observant  could  not  fail  to 
notice  the  heating  effects  produced  by  the  percussion  of 
the  bullet  against  its  target,  and  by  the  jar  of  the  gun 
at  the  moment  of  its  discharge.  By  such  facts  he  was 
naturally  led  to  reflect  on  that  connection  between 
mechanical  power  and  heat  which  he  afterwards  did  so 
much  to  illustrate  and  develop. 

The  phenomena  both  of  light  and  heat  fascinated 
him  ;  and  we  accordingly  find  him  from  time  to  time 
abandoning  practical  aims,  and  seeking  for  knowledge 
which  had  no  apparent  practical  outcome.  Thus  we  see 
him  experimenting  on  the  action  of  green  vegetables 
and  other  matters  upon  light,  or  rather  the  action  of 
light  on  the  green  leaves  of  plants.  From  this  inquiry 
he  turned  to  estimate  the  quantities  of  moisture  taken 


COUNT  BUMFORD.  157 

up  by  different  substances  in  humid  air.  Sheep's  wool 
he  found  to  be  the  most  absorbent,  while  cotton  wool 
and  ravellings  of  fine  linen  were  among  the  least.  These 
experiments  he  regarded  as  of  the  highest  importance, 
as  they  explained,  to  his  mind,  the  salubrity  of  flannel 
when  worn  next  the  skin.  Its  healthfulness  he  ascribed 
to  its  power  of  taking  up  the  moisture  of  the  body, 
sensible  and  insensible,  and  dispersing  it  by  evaporation 
in  the  air. 

The  propagation  of  heat  in  fluids  was  but  imperfectly 
understood  when  Rumford  took  the  subject  up.  In 
various  parts  of  his  writings  he  dwells  on  the  importance 
of  what  he  calls  accidental  observations,  deeming  them 
more  fruitful  than  those  which  have  sprung  from  the 
more  recondite  thoughts  of  the  philosopher.  But  acci- 
dents, however  numerous,  if  they  fail  to  reach  the 
proper  soil  are  barren.  Kumford  ascribed  to  accident 
the  investigations  now  referred  to.  He  had  been  experi- 
menting upon  liquids,  employing  bulbs  of  copper  with 
glass  tubes  attached  to  them.  On  one  occasion,  having 
filled  his  bulb  and  tube  with  spirits  of  wine,  and  heated 
the  liquid,  he  placed  it  to  cool  in  a  window  where  the 
sun  happened  to  shine  upon  it.  Particles  of  dust  had 
found  their  way  into  the  spirit,  and  the  sun,  shining  on 
these  particles,  made  their  motions  vividly  apparent. 
Along  the  axis  of  his  tube  the  illuminated  particles  rose  ; 
along  its  sides  they  fell,  thus  making  manifest  the 
currents  within  the  liquid.  The  reason  of  this  circula- 
tion is  obvious  enough.  The  glass  tube  in  contact  with 
the  cold  air  had  its  temperature  lowered.  The  glass 
drew  heat  from  the  liquid  in  contact  with  it,  which 
thereby  being  rendered  more  dense,  fell  along  the  sides 
of  the  tube,  while,  to  supply  its  place,  the  lighter  liquid 
rose  along  the  axis.  The  motion  here  described  is 


158  COUNT  EUMi'ORD. 

exactly  that  of  the  great  geyser  of  Iceland.  The  water 
falls  along  the  sides  of  the  geyser  tube,  and  rises  along 
the  axis.  In  this  way,  then,  heat  is  propagated  through 
liquids.  It  is  a  case  of  bodily  transport  by  currents,  and 
not  one  of  true  conduction  from  molecule  to  molecule. 

It  immediately  occurred  to  Rumford  to  hamper  this 
motion  of  convection.  He  called  to  mind  an  observation 
he  had  made  at  Baiae,  where  the  water  of  the  sea  being 
cool  to  the  touch,  the  sand  a  few  inches  below  the  water 
was  intolerably  hot.  This  he  ascribed  to  the  impedi- 
ment offered  by  the  sand  to  the  upward  diffusion  of  the 
heat.  The  length  of  time  required  by  stewed  apples  to 
cool  also  occurred  to  him.  He  had  frequently  burnt 
his  mouth  by  a  spoonful  of  apple  taken  from  the  centre 
of  a  dish  after  the  surface  had  become  cool.  He  devised 
thermometers  with  a  view  of  bringing  his  notions  to  an 
experimental  test.  With  pure  water  he  compared  water 
slightly  thickened  with  starch,  water  containing  eider- 
down, and  stewed  apples  bruised  into  a  pulp  which  con- 
sisted almost  wholly  of  water.  In  all  cases  he  found 
the  propagation  of  heat  impeded,  and  cooling  retarded, 
by  everything  that  prevented  the  formation  of  currents. 
As  he  pursued  his  inquiries,  the  idea  became  more  and 
more  fixed  in  his  mind  that  convection  is  the  only 
means  by  which  heat  is  diffused  in  liquids.  He  denied 
them  all  power  of  true  conduction,  and  though  his  ex- 
periments did  not,  and  could  not  prove  this,  they  did 
prove  that  in  the  propagation  of  heat  through  the 
liquids  he  examined,  which  were  water,  oil,  and  mercury, 
conduction  played  an  extremely  subordinate  part. 

Rumford  changes  from  time  to  time  the  tone  of  the 
philosopher  for  that  of  the  preacher.  He  seems  filled 
with  religious  enthusiasm  on  contemplating  what  he 
holds  to  be  the  wisdom  and  benevolence  displayed  in 
the  arrangement  of  the  physical  world.  One  fact  in 


COUNT  RUMFOBD.  159 

particular  excited  this  emotion.  De  Luc  had  pointed 
out  that  when  water  is  cooled,  it  shrinks  in  volume,  until 
it  reaches  a  temperature  of  about  40°  Fahr.  At  this  point 
it  ceases  to  contract,  and  expands  when  cooled  still  fur- 
ther. The  expansion  we  now  know  to  be  due  to  incipi- 
ent crystallisation,  or  freezing,  which,  when  it  once  sets 
in,  greatly,  and  suddenly,  enhances  the  expansion.  A  con- 
sequence of  this  is  that  ice  floats  as  a  lighter  body  upon 
water.  This  fact  riveted  the  attention  of  Eumford,  and 
its  obvious  consequences  filled  him  with  the  enthusiasm 
to  which  I  have  referred.  He  was  strong,  but  untrained, 
and  his  language  was  not  always  such  as  a  truly  dis- 
ciplined man  of  science  would  employ.  '  Let  me,'  he 
says,  *  beg  the  attention  of  my  reader,  while  I  endeavour 
to  investigate  this  most  interesting  subject,  and  let  me 
at  the  same  time  bespeak  his  candour  and  indulgence. 
I  feel  the  danger  to  which  a  mortal  exposes  himself  who 
has  the  temerity  to  undertake  to  explain  the  designs  of 
Infinite  Wisdom.  The  enterprise  is  adventurous,  but  it 
cannot  surely  be  improper.' 

He  4  explains  '  accordingly  ;  and  notwithstanding 
his  professed  humility,  does  not  hesitate  to  brand  those 
who  fail  to  see  with  his  eyes  as  •  degraded,  and  quite 
callous  to  every  ingenuous  and  noble  sentiment.'  He 
indulges  in  excursions  of  the  imagination  to  show  the 
misfortunes  that  would  accrue  if  the  arrangement  of  the 
world  had  been  different  from  what  it  is.  '  Had  not 
Providence,  in  a  manner  which  may  be  well  considered 
as  miraculous,'  stopped  the  contraction  of  water  before 
it  reached  its  freezing  point,  and  caused  it  to  expand 
afterwards,  a  single  winter  would  freeze  every  fresh-water 
lake  within  the  polar  circle  to  a  vast  depth,  '  and  it  is 
more  than  probable  that  the  regions  of  eternal  frost  would 
have  spread  on  every  side  from  the  poles,  and,  advancing 
towards  the  equator,  would  have  extended  its  dreary 


160  COUNT  BUMFORD. 

and  solitary  reign  over  a  great  part  of  what  are  now 
the  most  fertile  and  most  inhabited  climates  of  the 
world  I '  He  expands  this  thesis  in  various  directions, 
the  whole  argument  being  based  on  the  assumption  that 
'  all  bodies  are  condensed  by  cold,  without  limitation, 
WATER  ONLY  EXCEPTED.'  Repeated  disappointments  in 
such  matters  have  taught  us  caution.  Legitimate 
grounds  for  wonder  exist  everywhere  around  us;  but 
wonder  must  not  be  cultivated  at  the  expense  of  truth. 
Brought  to  the  proper  test,  the  assumption  on  which 
Rumford  built  his  striking  teleological  argument  is 
found  to  be  a  mere  quicksand.  The  fact  he  adduces 
as  unique  is  not  an  exception  to  a  universal  law. 
There  are  other  substances,  to  which  his  reasoning 
has  not  the  remotest  application,  which,  like  water, 
expand  before  and  during  crystallisation.  The  condi- 
tions necessary  to  the  life  of  our  planet  must  have  ex- 
isted before  life  appeared ;  but  whether  those  conditions 
had  prospective  reference  to  life,  or  whether  its  im- 
manent energy  did  not  seize  upon  conditions  which 
grew  into  being  without  any  reference  to  life,  we  do  not 
know ;  and  it  would  be  mere  arrogance  at  the  present 
day  to  dogmatise  upon  the  subject. 

In  the  controversy  whether  heat  was  a  form  of 
matter  or  a  form  of  motion,  Rumford  espoused  the 
latter  view.  Now  those  who  supposed  heat  to  be  matter 
naturally  thought  that  it  might  be  ponderable,  and  ex- 
periments favourable  to  this  notion  had  been  executed. 
Operating  with  a  balance  of  extreme  delicacy,  Rumford 
took  up  this  question,  and  treated  it  with  great  skill  and 
caution.  His  conclusion  from  his  experiments  was  that, 
if  heat  be  a  substance — a  fluid  sui  generis — it  must  be 
something  so  infinitely  rare,  even  in  its  condensed  state, 
as  to  baffle  all  our  attempts  to  discover  its  gravity, 


COUNT  RUMFOUD.  161 

But  '  if  the  opinion  which  has  been  adopted  by  many  of 
our  ablest  philosophers,  that  heat  is  an  intestine  vibra- 
tory motion  of  the  constituent  parts  of  bodies,  should 
be  well  founded,  it  is  clear  that  the  weights  of  bodies 
can  be  in  no  wise  affected  by  such  motion.'  The  weight 
of  a  bell,  he  urges  in  another  place,  is  not  affected  by 
its  sonorous  vibration. 

Early  in  the  year  1803,  he  being  then  in  Munich, 
Eumford  broke  ground  in  the  domain  of  radiant  heat. 
He  prepared  bright  metallic  vessels,  filled  them  with 
hot  water,  placed  them  in  a  large  and  quiet  room,  and 
observed  the  time  required  to  cool  them  down  a  certain 
number  of  degrees.  Covering  some  of  his  vessels  with 
Irish  linen  and  leaving  others  bare,  he  found,  to  his 
surprise,  that  the  covered  vessels  were  more  rapidly 
chilled  than  the  naked  ones.  Comparing  in  the  same 
room  a  thick  glass  bottle,  filled  with  hot  water,  with  a 
tin  bottle  of  the  same  shape  and  size,  he  found  that  the 
water  in  the  glass  vessel  cooled  twice  as  rapidly  as  that 
in  the  tin  one.  When,  moreover,  he  coated  his  metallic 
vessel  with  glue,  the  cooling  process  was  hastened,  as  it 
had  been  by  the  linen.  Applying  a  second,  a  third,  and 
a  fourth  coating  of  glue,  he  found  the  chilling  pro- 
moted. Here,  however,  he  came  to  a  point  where  the 
addition  of  any  further  coatings  produced  a  retardation 
of  the  chilling.  Painting  some  of  his  vessels  black  and 
some  white,  he  found  the  times  of  cooling  to  be  practi- 
cally the  same  for  both — a  result  which  he  seems  to 
have  afterwards  forgotten.  From  these  and  other  ex- 
periments of  the  same  kind  he  drew  the  just  conclusion 
that  a  hot  body  does  not  lose  its  heat  by  the  mere  com- 
munication of  it  to  the  air,  but  that  a  large  proportion 
of  the  heat  escapes  in  rays,  the  escape  being  facilitated 
by  the  substances  with  which  his  vessels  were  coated, 


162  COUNT  EUMFOBD. 

The  more  rapid  chilling  of  the  glass  bottle  was  due,  in 
like  manner,  to  the  fact  that  glass  possesses  a  greater 
radiative  power  than  tin. 

He  next  applies  himself  with  energy,  zeal,  and 
tenacity  to  prove  that  there  are  frigorific  rays  which 
act  in  all  respects  like  calorific  rays,  and  which  enjoy 
an  individuality  quite  as  assured  as  that  of  the  latter. 
Pfe  pictures  his  frigorific  rays  as  produced  by  vibrations 
of  a  special  kind.  In  Pictet's  celebrated  experiment 
of  conjugate  mirrors,  and  in  many  other  experiments, 
chilling  by  a  cold  body  showed  itself  to  be  so  exactly 
analogous  to  heating  by  a  warm  one,  that  Eumford 
never  could  shake  from  his  mind  the  notion  of  rays  of 
cold.  The  fall  of  the  thermometer  in  one  focus  when  a 
lump  of  ice  was  placed  in  the  other,  was  in  his  view 
caused  by  a  positive  emission  of  cold  rays  from  the  ice, 
and  not  by  its  absorption  of  the  heat  radiated  against  it 
by  the  thermometer.  These  frigorific  rays,  he  says, 
were  suspected  by  Bacon.  Their  existence  was  actually 
established  by  the  academicians  of  Florence,  but  these 
learned  gentlemen  were  so  l  blinded  by  their  prejudices 
respecting  the  nature  of  heat,  that  they  did  not  believe 
the  report  of  their  own  eyes.' 

Kumford  indulges  in  various  untenable  speculations 
and  erroneous  notions  regarding  the  part  played  by 
clothing,  by  the  blackness  of  the  negro's  skin,  and  by 
the  oiled  surface  of  the  Hottentot.  We  are,  he  con- 
tends, kept  warm  by  our  clothing,  not  so  much  by  con- 
fining our  heat  as  by  keeping  off  the  frigorific  rays 
which  tend  to  cool  us.  He  reverts  to  the  respective 
cases  of  a  black  and  a  white  man,  and  describes  an  ex- 
periment which  elucidates  his  views.  He  covered  two  of 
his  vessels  with  goldbeater's  skin,  and  painted  one  of 
them  black  with  Indian  ink,  leaving  the  other  of  its 
natural  while  colour.  Filling  both  vessels  with  hot 


COUNT  RUMFORD.  163 

water,  he  left  them  to  cool  in  the  air  of  a  large,  quiet 
room.  The  vessel  covered  with  the  black  skin  repre- 
sented a  negro,  the  other  vessel  a  white  man  ;  and  the  re- 
Bult  was  that  while  the  black  required  only  23£  minutes 
to  cool,  the  white  man  required  28  minutes.  The  prac- 
tical issue  of  the  experiment  is  thus  stated : — "All  I  will 
venture  to  say  on  the  subject  is,  that  were  I  called  to 
inhabit  a  very  hot  country,  nothing  should  prevent  me 
from  making  the  experiment  of  blackening  my  skin,  or 
at  least  of  wearing  a  black  shirt,  in  the  shade,  and  espe- 
cially at  night,  in  order  to  find  out  if,  by  those  means, 
I  could  not  contrive  to  make  myself  more  comfortable.' 

There  was  at  times  a  headstrong  element,  if  I  may 
use  the  term,  in  Rumford's  scientific  reasoning.  He 
here  overlooks  the  fact  that  in  a  former  experiment  he 
found  scarcely  an  appreciable  difference  between  white 
and  black  as  regards  their  powers  of  cooling.  He  also 
forgets  the  possible  influence  of  a  second  coating,  which 
his  former  experiments  had  revealed.  As  regards  the 
negro  and  the  white  man,  Rumford's  first  experiment 
illustrated  the  case  more  correctly  than  his  subsequent 
ones.  There  are,  moreover,  transparent  substances 
which,  used  as  varnishes,  would  not  have  impaired  the 
whiteness  of  the  goldbeater's  skin,  but  which  would  have 
hastened  the  cooling  even  more  than  the  Indian  ink. 

Those  who  are  acquainted  with  Sir  John  Leslie's 
experiments  on  radiant  heat  will  not  fail  to  notice  that 
he  and  Rumford  travelled  over  common  ground.  With 
a  view  of  setting  this  matter  right  Rumford  wrote  a 
paper  entitled  '  Historical  Review  of  Experiments  on 
the  Subject  of  Heat,'  in  which  he  shows  that  his  experi- 
ments were  not  only  talked  about  and  executed  before 
learned  societies,  but  that  they  were  in  part  published 
prior  to  the  appearance  of  Leslie's  celebrated  work  in 
1804.  Still,  the  style  of  that  work  furnishes,  I  think, 


164  COUNT  RUMFORD. 

internal  evidence  of  its  perfectly  independent  character, 
while  the  extent  and  variety  of  Leslie's  labours  render 
it  practically  impossible  that  they  could  have  been  de- 
rived from  anything  that  Rumford  had  previously  done. 
The  two  philosophers  had  no  personal  knowledge  oi 
each  other,  and  the  credit  to  be  awarded,  where  the-}' 
deal  with  the  same  subject,  belongs,  I  think,  equally 
to  both. 

Rumford's  experimental  work  was  far  smaller  in 
quantity  than  that  of  Leslie,  but  in  regard  to  theory  he 
must  be  conceded  the  highest  place.  In  theory  Leslie  was 
inconsistent  and  confused,  while  Kumford,  judged  by 
the  circumstances  of  his  time,  was  in  the  main  clear  and 
correct.  The  part  played  by  the  luminiferous  ether  in 
the  phenomena  of  light  had  been  revived  and  enforced 
by  the  powerful  experiments  of  Dr.  Thomas  Young. 
The  undulatory  hypothesis  was  therefore  at  hand,  and 
Rumford  made  ample  use  of  it.  He  has  written  a  paper 
entitled  '  Reflections  on  Heat,'  in  which  he  describes 
the  views  regarding  its  nature  that  were  prevalent  in 
his  time.  *  Some,'  he  says,  '  regard  it  as  a  substance, 
of/hers  as  a  vibratwy  motion  of  the  particles  of  matter 
of  which  a  body  is  composed.'  The  heating  of  a  body 
is,  on  the  one  hypothesis,  due  to  the  accumulation 
within  it  of  caloric,  while  others  hold  the  heating  to  be 
due  to  the  acceleration  of  the  vibratory  motion.  '  On 
the  hypothesis  of  vibratory  motion,  a  body  which  has 
become  cold  is  thought  to  have  lost  nothing  except 
motion ;  on  the  other  hypothesis,  it  is  supposed  to  have 
lost  some  material  substance.'  The  loss  of  motion 
Rumford  clearly  apprehends  to  be  due  to  its  communica- 
tion to  '  an  eminently  elastic  fluid — au  ether  which  fills 
all  space  throughout  the  universe.'  The  theoretic  notions 
thus  expressed  are,  in  point  of  clearness  and  correct- 
ness, iar  in  advance  of  those  entertained  by  Leslie. 


COUNT   RUMFOJBD.  165 

As  already  mentioned,  the  fact  of  water  changing 
its  density  at  a  temperature  of  40°  Fahr.  powerfully 
affected  the  mind  of  Rumford.  On  this  subject  he 
made  many  experiments;  and  one  of  the  minor  applica- 
tions of  the  knowledge  thus  derived  may  be  here  noted. 
In  company  with  his  friend  Professor  Pictet,  of  Geneva, 
he  paid  a  visit  to  the  Mer  de  Glace,  and  discovered 
in  the  ice  a  pit  *  perfectly  cylindrical,  about  seven  inches 
in  diameter,  and  more  than  four  feet  deep,  quite  full  of 
water.'  He  was  informed  by  his  guides  that  these  pits 
are  formed  in  summer,  and  gradually  increase  in  depth 
during  the  warm  weather.  How  can  these  pits  deepen  ? 
Rumford  answers  thus : — The  warm  winds  which  in 
summer  blow  over  the  surface  of  the  column  of  ice-cold 
water,  communicate  some  small  degree  of  heat  to  the 
fluid.  The  water  at  the  surface  being  thus  rendered 
specifically  heavier,  sinks  to  the  bottom  of  the  pit,  to 
which  the  heat  thus  carried  down  is  communicated, 
melting  the  ice  and  increasing  the  depth  of  the  pit.  We 
have  here  a  small  specimen  of  Rumford's  penetration, 
but  it  is  a  very  interesting  one.  The  sun's  invisible 
rays,  however,  are  probably  more  influential  than  the 
action  of  the  warm  wind  in  producing  the  observed 
effect. 

Various  interesting  experiments  were  made  by 
Rumford  on  what  is  now  known  as  'surface-tension.' 
From  his  experiments  he  inferred  that  the  surface  of  a 
liquid — of  water,  for  example — is  covered  by  a  pellicle 
which  can  be  caused  to  tremble  throughout  by  touching 
it  with  the  point  of  a  needle.  He  proposed  to  the 
geometricians  of  Paris  to  determine  the  shape  of  a  drop 
resting  on  a  horizontal  surface,  and  restrained  solely  by 
the  resistance  of  a  pellicle  exerting  a  given  force  on  its 
surface.  This  pellicle  he  considers  to  be  due  to  the 
adhesion  of  the  particles  of  liquids  to  each  other,  and  he 


166  COUNT  KUMFORD. 

makes  various  ingenious  calculations  to  determine  the 
size  of  a  particle  of  heavy  matter — of  gold,  for  instance 
— which  would  rest  suspended  in  water  because  of  its 
inability  to  force  asunder  the  particles  of  the  liquid. 
The  diameter  of  a  sphere  of  gold  which  would  behave 
in  this  way  he  found  to  be  YS^TTTF  °f  an  incn« 

Even  among  scientific  men,  probably  few  are  aware 
that  Rumford  experimented  on  the  diffusion  of  liquids ; 
a  field  of  investigation  in  which  Graham  afterwards 
rendered  himself  so  eminent.  Into  a  glass  cylinder,  If 
inch  in  diameter  and  8  inches  high,  he  poured  a  layer 
of  saturated  aqueous  solution  of  muriate  of  soda  3  inches 
thick  ;  over  this  he  carefully  poured  a  layer  of  distilled 
water  of  the  same  thickness  ;  he  then  let  a  drop  of  the 
oil  of  cloves  fall  into  the  vessel.  This  oil,  being  heavier 
than  the  pure  water  and  lighter  than  the  solution, 
rested  as  a  sphere  at  the  common  boundary  of  the  two 
liquids.  A  layer  of  olive  oil  four  lines  in  thickness  was 
then  poured  over  the  water,  in  order  to  shut  off  the  air. 
The  object  of  the  experiment  was  to  ascertain  whether 
one  liquid  remained  permanently  superposed  upon  the 
other  without  any  mixing.  If  this  proved  to  be  the 
case,  the  position  of  the  drop  of  oil  would  remain  con- 
stant; but  if  the  heavy  mineial  solution  rose  into 
the  water  overhead,  the  drop  of  oil,  which  Eumford 
called  his  'little  sentinel,'  would  warn  him  of  the 
event  by  rising  in  the  liquid.  After  twenty-four 
hours  he  entered  the  cellar  in  which  the  experiment 
was  made,  and  found  that  the  little  ball  of  oil  had  risen 
three  lines.  For  six  days  it  continued  to  rise  at  the 
rate  of  about  three  lines  a  day.  He  afterwards  expe- 
rimented with  other  solutions,  the  result  being  '  that 
the  mixture  went  on  continually,  but  very  slowly,  be- 
tween the  various  aqueous  solutions  employed  and  the 
distilled  water  resting  upon  them.'  Kumford's  experi- 


COUNT  RUMFOED.  167 

inents  were  probably  prompted  by  his  views  on  mole- 
cular physics.  He  would  hardly  have  thought  of  the 
foregoing  arrangement  were  not  the  intestine  motions 
of  the  ultimate  particles  of  bodies  present  to  his  mind. 
He  was,  moreover,  quite  aware  of  the  importance  of  the 
result  here  established.  The  subject  had  often  occupied 
his  thoughts,  and  he  had  at  different  times  made  '  a 
considerable  number  of  experiments  with  a  view  ol 
throwing  light  into  the  profound  darkness  with  which 
the  subject  is  shrouded  on  every  side.' 

He  devoted  his  attention  to  steam,  considered  as  a 
vehicle  for  transporting  heat ;  he  sought  for  the  means 
of  increasing  the  heat  obtained  from  fuel ;  he  devised 
a  new  steam-boiler,  in  which  we  have  a  forecast  of 
the  tubular  boiler  of  George  Stephenson.  After  some 
preliminary  experiments  on  wood  and  charcoal,  he 
definitely  took  up  the  important  investigation  of  the 
quantity  of  heat  developed  in  combustion,  and  in  the 
condensation  of  vapours.  He  described  the  new  calori- 
meter employed  in  the  inquiry.  It  was  a  kind  of  worm 
through  which  the  heated  air  and  products  of  combus 
tion  were  led,  and  in  which  the  heat  was  delivered  up 
to  cold  water  surrounding  the  worm. 

He  experimented  upon  white  wax,  spirit  of  wine, 
alcohol,  sulphuric  ether,  naphtha,  charcoal,  wood,  and 
inflammable  gases.  Whenever  it  was  possible  he  aimed 
at  quantitative  results,  and  in  the  present  instance  he 
*  estimated  the  calorific  power  of  a  body  by  the  number 
of  parts  by  weight,  of  water,  which  one  part  by  weight 
of  the  body  would,  on  perfect  combustion,  raise  one 
degree  in  temperature.  Thus  1  Ib.  of  charcoal,  in  com- 
bining with  2§  Ibs.  of  oxygen,  to  form  carbonic  acid, 
evolves  heat  sufficient  to  raise  the  temperature  of  about 
8,000  Ibs.  of  water  1°  C.  Similarly,  1  Ib.  of  hydrogen, 
in  combining  with  8  Ibs.  of  oxygen,  to  form  water, 


168  COUNT  RUMFORD. 

generates  an  amount  of  heat  sufficient  to  raise  34,000 
Ibs.  of  water  1°  C.  The  calorific  powers,  therefore,  of 
carbon  and  hydrogen  are  as  8  :  34.  The  refined  re- 
searches of  Favre  and  Silbermann  entirely  confirm 
these  determinations  of  Eumford '  (Percy).  Follow- 
ing the  experiments  on  combustion,  we  have  others 
made  to  determine  the  quantity  of  heat  set  free  by 
the  condensation  of  various  vapours,  and  the  capacity 
of  various  liquids  for  heat.  We  have  also  an  elaborate 
inquiry  into  the  structure  of  wood,  the  specific  gravity 
of  its  solid  parts,  the  liquids  and  elastic  fluids  contained 
in  it,  the  quantity  of  charcoal  to  be  obtained  from  it, 
and  the  heat  generated  by  the  combustion  of  wood  of 
different  kinds. 

But  the  main  object  of  Rumford's  life  and  the  sub- 
ject which  chiefly  interested  him  was  the  practical 
management  of  fire,  and  the  economy  of  fuel.  Eighty- 
seven  pages  of  the  second  volume  of  his  collected  works 
are  devoted  to  this  subject.  The  whole  of  the  third 
volume  is  devoted  to  it,  while  a  large  portion  of  the 
fourth  and  last  volume  is  occupied  with  kindred  ques- 
tions. Some  of  those  essays  are  rather  tiresome  to  a 
reader  of  the  present  day,  and  Rumford  had  a  suspicion 
that  they  might  appear  so  to  contemporary  readers. 
*  I  believe,'  he  says,  '  that  I  am  sometimes  too  prolix 
for  the  taste  of  the  age  ;  but  it  should  be  remembered 
that  the  subjects  I  have  undertaken  to  investigate  are 
by  no  means  indifferent  to  me  ;  that  I  conceive  them  to 
be  intimately  connected  with  the  comforts  and  enjoy- 
ments of  mankind  ;  and  that  a  habit  of  revolving  them 
in  my  mind,  and  reflecting  on  their  extensive  usefulness, 
ha^  awakened  my  enthusiasm,  and  rendered  it  quite 
impossible  for  me  to  treat  them  with  cold  indifference.' 

For  the  most  part,  it  is  only  when  Rumford  is  self- 


COUNT  KUMFORD.  169 

conscious  that  this  tedium  appears.  He  wishes  to  ex- 
cite his  reader's  interest,  and  sometimes  adopts  means 
to  this  end  which  defeat  themselves.  Such  is  the  case 
when  he  dwells  with  reiteration  on  the  refined  and  ex- 
quisite pleasure  which  he  derives  from  being  of  service 
to  humanity.  Some  also  would  deem  him  tedious, 
though  I  deem  him  courageous,  when  he  deals  with  the 
details  of  his  schemes.  He  leaves  no  stone  unturned  in 
his  effort  to  render  himself  clear.  He  is  in  many  cases 
simply  writing  out  a  specification,  to  be  followed  in  all 
particulars.  He  gives  directions  as  to  the  manner  in 
which  a  slice  of  hasty  pudding  is  to  be  eaten.  A  small 
pit  is  to  be  dug  in  the  centre  of  the  cake,  a  piece  of 
butter  placed  in  the  pit,  while  the  removed  bit  is  to  be 
placed  on  the  butter  to  aid  in  melting  it.  You  then 
begin  at  the  circumference  of  your  pudding,  and  eat  all 
round,  dipping  each  piece  in  the  butter  before  convey- 
ing it  to  the  mouth.  Such  details  were  sure  to  provoke 
sarcasm,  and  they  did  provoke  it.  But  amid  the  verbosity 
we  have  incessant  flashes  of  practical  wisdom  and  ex- 
amples of  intellectual  force.  When  he  ceases  to  think 
of  the  exquisite  delight  of  his  philanthropic  labours — 
ceases  to  think  of  himself — and  permits  his  own  per- 
sonality to  be  effaced  by  his  subject,  we  see  Kumford  at 
his  best ;  and  his  best  was  excellent.  Suggestion  fol- 
lows suggestion,  experiment  succeeds  experiment,  until 
he  has  finally  exhausted  his  subject,  or  is  pulled  up  by 
inability  to  proceed  further. 

He  tested  quantitatively  the  relative  intensities  of 
various  lights,  constructing,  while  doing  so,  his  well- 
known  photometer.  Placing  two  lights  in  front  of  a 
white  screen,  and  at  the  same  distance  from  it,  and 
fixing  an  opaque  rod  between  the  lights  and  the  screen, 
he  obtained  two  shadows  corresponding  to  the  two 


170  COUNT  EUMFOKD. 

lights.  When  the  lights  were  equally  intense,  the 
shadows  were  equally  dark,  but  when  one  of  the  lights 
was  more  powerful  than  the  other,  the  shadow  corre- 
sponding to  that  other  was  rendered  pale,  because  the 
light  from  the  most  intense  source  fell  upon  it.  Ee- 
moving  the  more  intense  light  farther  from  the  screen, 
until  a  point  was  reached  when  the  shadows  appeared 
equal,  Rumford  obtained  all  the  elements  necessary  for 
the  computation  of  the  relative  intensities  of  the  lights. 
He  had  only  to  apply  the  law  of  inverse  squares,  which 
makes  a  double  distance  correspond  to  a  fourfold  in- 
tensity, a  treble  distance  to  a  ninefold  intensity,  and  so 
on.  In  connection  with  these  experiments  he  dwells 
repeatedly  upon  a  defect  which  harasses  the  official  gas- 
examiners  of  the  present  day,  and  that  is,  the  fluctua- 
tions of  the  candles  used  as  standards  of  measurement. 
These  photometric  measurements  are  succeeded  by  a 
brief  but  beautiful  essay  on  *  Coloured  Shadows,'  which, 
in  connection  with  another  short  essay  on  the  <  Harmony 
of  Colours,'  strikingly  illustrates  Rumford's  penetration 
and  experimental  skill.  He  produced  two  shadows,  one 
from  day  light,  the  other  from  candle-light.  The  daylight 
shadow  being  shone  upon  by  the  candle,  was,  as  might 
be  expected,  yellow,  because  the  candle  sheds  a  yellow 
light.  But  the  other  shadow,  instead  of  being  colour- 
less, was  '  the  most  beautiful  blue  that  it  was  possible 
to  imagine.'  He  states  clearly  that  the  colour  of  one 
shadow  is  real,  while  that  of  the  other  is  imaginary. 
He  finds  it  *  impossible  to  produce  two  shadows  at  the 
same  time  from  the  same  body,  the  one  answering  to  a 
beam  of  daylight,  and  the  other  to  the  light  of  a  candle 
or  lamp,  without  these  shadows  being  coloured,  the  one 
yellow,  and  the  other  blue.'  He  obtained  shadows 
from  a  light  coloured  by  means  of  interposed  glasses, 
and  compared  them  with  shadows  obtained  from  un- 


COUNT  KUMFORD.  171 

coloured  light.  The  shadows  were  always  coloured 
when  the  lights  differed  from  each  other  in  whiteness, 
and  the  colours  of  the  shadows  were  always  such  as, 
when  added  together,  produced  a  pure  white.  The 
real  colour,  in  fact,  evoked,  or  '  called  up,'  or  summoned 
an  imaginary  complementary  colour.  Goethe  probably 
derived  the  expression  '  geforderte  Farben,'  which  occurs 
BO  often  in  the  '  Farbenlehre,'  from  the  terminology  of 
Jiumford. 

But  the  experiments  and  discussion  on  which  the 
fame  of  Rumford  mainly  rests  are  described  in  an  essay 
of  twenty  pages — a  vanishing  quantity  when  compared 
with  the  sum-total  ot  his  published  work.  A  cannon 
foundry  had  been  built  under  his  superintendence  at 
Munich,  where  the  heat  developed  during  the  boring  of 
cannon  powerfully  attracted  his  attention.  Upon  this 
heat  he  made  numerous  tentative  experiments,  which 
are  described  in  the  essay.  With  the  view  of  determin- 
ing its  exact  quantity,  he  cut  a  cylinder  from  the  muzzle 
end  of  a  gun  not  yet  bored,  partially  hollowed  out  this 
cylinder,  and  fitted  into  it  a  borer  which  resembled  a 
blunt  chisel  in  shape.  The  borer  being  strongly  pressed 
against  the  bottom  of  the  cylinder,  it  was  caused  to  ro- 
tate by  horse-power.  He  surrounded  his  cylinder  with 
a  wooden  box,  filling  the  box  with  water  which  embraced 
the  entire  cylinder.  Soon  after  the  starting  of  the  rota- 
tion, the  water  felt  warm  to  the  hand.  In  an  hour 
it  had  risen  to  107°  in  temperature.  In  two  hours  and 
twenty  minutes  it  had  risen  to  200°,  while  in  two  hours 
and  thirty  minutes  it  actually  boiled. 

*  Rumford  carefully  estimated  the  quantity  of  heat 
possessed  by  each  portion  of  his  apparatus  at  the  con- 
elusion  of  his  experiment,  and  adding  all  together, 
found  a  total  sufficient  to  raise  26'58  Ibs.  of  ice-cold 

12 


172  COUNT   RUMFOKD. 

water  to  its  boiling-point,  or  through  180°  Fahr.  By 
careful  calculation  he  found  this  heat  equal  to  that 
given  out  by  the  combustion  of  2303'8  grains  (  =  4-^  oz. 
troy)  of  wax.  He  then  determined  the  "  celerity  "  with 
which  the  heat  was  generated,  summing  up  thus : — 
"  From  the  results  of  these  computations  it  appears 
that  the  quantity  of  heat  produced  equably,  or  in  a  con- 
tinuous stream,  if  I  may  use  the  expression,  by  the 
friction  of  the  blunt  steel  borer  against  the  bottom  of 
\be  hollow  metallic  cylinder,  was  greater  than  that  pro- 
duced in  the  combustion  of  nine  wax  candles,  each 
three-quarters  of  an  inch  in  diameter,  all  burning 
together  with  clear  bright  flames." 

'"One  horse,"  he  continues,  "would  have  been 
equal  to  the  work  performed,  though  two  were  actually 
employed.  Heat  may  thus  be  produced  merely  by  the 
strength  of  a  horse,  and  in  a  case  of  necessity,  this 
heat  might  be  used  in  cooking  victuals.  But  no  cir- 
cumstances could  be  imagined  in  which  this  method  of 
procuring  heat  would  be  advantageous ;  for  more  heat 
might  be  obtained  by  using  the  fodder  necessary  for  the 
support  of  a  horse  as  fuel." ' 

This  is  an  extremely  «igni6cant  passage,  intimating, 
as  it  does,  that  Kumford  saw  clearly  that  the  force  of 
animals  was  derived  from  the  food,  no  creation  of  force 
taking  place  in  the  animal  body. 

*  By  meditating  on  the  results  of  all  these  experi- 
ments, we  are  naturally,'  he  says,  '  brought  to  the  great 
question  which  has  so  often  been  the  subject  of  "specu- 
lation among  philosophers,  namely,  What  is  heat — is 
there  any  such  thing  as  an  igneous  fluid  ?  Is  there 
anything  that,  with  propriety,  can  be  called  caloric?' 

'  We  have  seen  that  a  very  considerable  quantity  of 
heat  may  be  excited  by  the  friction  of  two  metallic 
surfaces,  and  given  off  in  a  constant  stream  or  flux  in 


COUNT  BUMFOBD.  173 

all  directions,  without  interruption  or  intermission,  and 
without  any  signs  of  diminution  or  exhaustion.  In 
reasoning  on  this  subject,  we  must  not  forget  that  most 
remarkable  circumstance,  that  the  source  of  the  heat 
generated  by  friction  in  these  experiments  appeared 
evidently  to  be  inexhaustible.  It  is  hardly  necessary 
to  add  that  anything  which  any  insulated  body  or 
system  of  bodies  can  continue  to  furnish  without  limi- 
tation cannot  possibly  be  a  material  substance ;  and  it 
appears  to  me  to  be  extremely  difficult,  if  not  quite 
impossible,  to  form  any  distinct  idea  of  anything  capa- 
ble of  being  excited  and  communicated  in  those  expe- 
riments, except  it  be  Motion.' ' 

1    Heat  a  Mode  of  Motion,  Lecture  II. 


1884. 

LOUIS  PASTEUR,  HIS  LIFE  AND  LABOURS. 

(A  Eeview.)  ' 

IN  the  early  part  of  the  present  year  the  French 
original  of  this  work  was  sent  to  me  from  Paris 
by  its  author.  It  was  accompanied  by  a  letter  from 
M.  Pasteur,  expressing  his  desire  to  have  the  work 
translated  and  published  in  England.  Eesponding 
to  this  desire,  I  placed  the  book  in  the  hands  of 
Messrs.  Longman,  who,  in  the  exercise  of  their  own 
judgment,  decided  on  publication.  The  translation  was 
confided,  at  my  suggestion,  to  Lady  Claud  Hamilton. 

The  translator's  task  was  not  always  an  easy  one, 
but  it  has,  I  think,  been  well  executed.  A  few  slight 
abbreviations,  for  which  I  am  responsible,  have  been 
introduced,  but  in  no  case  do  they  affect  the  sense.  It 
was,  moreover,  found  difficult  to  render  into  suitable 
English  the  title  of  the  original : — '  M.  Pasteur,  His- 
toire  d'un  Savant  par  un  Ignorant.'  A  less  piquant 
and  antithetical  English  title  was  therefore  substituted 
for  the  French  one. 

This  filial  tribute,  for  such  it  is,  was  written,  under 
the  immediate  supervision  of  M.  Pasteur,  by  his 
devoted  and  admiring  son-in-law,  M.  Valery  Eadot.  Tt 
is  the  record  of  a  life  of  extraordinary  scientific  ardour 
and  success,  the  picture  of  a  mind  on  which  facts  fall 
like  germs  upon  a  nutritive  soil,  and,  like  germs  so 
1  Written  as  an  introduction  to  the  Ensrlish  translation. 


LOUIS  PASTEUR,   HIS  LIFE  AND  LABOURS.      175 

favoured,  undergo  rapid  increase  and  multiplication. 
One  hardly  knows  which  to  admire  most — the  intuitive 
vision  which  discerns  in  advance  the  new  issues  to 
which  existing  data  point,  or  the  skill  in  device,  the 
adaptation  of  means  to  ends,  whereby  the  intuition  ia 
brought  to  the  test  and  ordeal  of  experiment. 

In  the  investigation  of  microscopic  organisms — the 
*  infinitely  little,'  as  Pouchet  loved  to  call  them — and 
their  doings  in  this  our  world,  M.  Pasteur  has  found 
his  true  vocation.  In  this  broad  field  it  has  been  his 
good  fortune  to  alight  upon  a  crowd  of  connected 
problems  of  the  highest  public  and  scientific  interest, 
ripe  for  solution,  and  requiring  for  their  successful 
treatment  the  precise  culture  and  capacities  which  he 
has  brought  to  bear  upon  them.  He  may  regret  his 
abandonment  of  molecular  physics ;  he  may  look  fondly 
back  upon  the  hopes  with  which  his  researches  on  the 
taitrates  and  paratartrates  inspired  him ;  he  may  think 
that  great  things  awaited  him  had  he  continued  to 
labour  in  this  line.  I  do  not  doubt  it.  But  this  does 
not  shake  my  conviction  that  he  yielded  to  the  natural 
affinities  of  his  intellect,  that  he  obeyed  its  truest 
impulses,  and  reaped  its  richest  rewards,  in  pursuing 
the  line  that  he  has  chosen,  and  in  which  his  labours 
have  rendered  him  one  of  the  most  conspicuous 
scientific  figures  of  this  age. 

With  regard  to  the  earliest  labours  of  M.  Pasteur, 
a  few  remarks  supplementary  to  those  of  M.  Kadot 
may  be  introduced  here.  The  days  when  angels 
whispered  into  the  hearkening  human  ear  secrets 
which  had  no  root  in  man's  previous  knowledge  or 
experience  are  gone  for  ever.  The  only  revelation — 
and  surely  it  deserves  the  name — now  open  to  the  wise 
arises  from  '  intending  the  mind '  on  acquired  know- 
ledge. When,  therefore,  M.  Radot,  following  M.  Pas- 


176  LOUIS  PASTEUR, 

teur,  speaks  with  such  emphasis  about  'preconceived 
ideas,'  he  cannot  mean  ideas  without  antecedents. 
Preconceived  ideas — if  out  of  deference  to  M.  Pasteur 
the  term  be  admitted — are  the  vintage  of  garnered 
facts.  We  in  England  should  rather  call  them  induc- 
tions which,  as  M.  Pasteur  truly  says,  inspire  the  mind 
and  shape  its  course  in  the  subsequent  work  of  deduc- 
tion and  verification. 

At  the  time  when  M.  Pasteur  undertook  his  inves- 
tigation of  the  diseases  of  silkworms,  which  led  to 
such  admirable  results,  he  had  never  seen  a  silkworm ; 
but  so  far  from  this  being  considered  a  disqualifica- 
tion, his  friend  M.  Dumas  regarded  his  freedom  as  a 
positive  advantage.  His  first  care  was  to  make  him- 
self acquainted  with  what  others  had  done.  To  their 
observations  he  added  his  own,  and  then,  surveying 
all,  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  origin  of  the 
disease  was  to  be  sought,  not  in  the  worms,  not  in  the 
eggs,  but  in  the  moths  which  laid  the  eggs.  I  am  not 
sure  that  this  conclusion  is  happily  described  as  *a 
preconceived  idea.'  Every  whipster  may  have  his 
preconceived  ideas ;  but  the  divine  power,  so  largely 
shared  by  M.  Pasteur,  of  drilling  from  facts  their 
essences — of  extracting  from  them  the  principles  from 
which  they  flow — is  given  only  to  a  few. 

With  regard  to  the  discovery  of  crystalline  facets  in 
the  tartrates,  dwelt  upon  by  M.  Radot,  a  brief  reference 
to  antecedent  labours  may  be,  here  allowed.  It  had  been 
discovered  by  Arago,  in  1811,  and  by  Biot,  in  1812  and 
1818,  that  a  plate  of  rock-crystal,  cut  perpendicular 
to  the  axis  of  the  prism,  and  crossing  a  beam  of  plane 
polarised  light,  caused  the  plane  of  polarisation  to 
rotate  through  an  angle,  dependent  on  the  thickness  of 
the  plate  and  the  refrangibility  of  the  light.  It  had, 


HIS  LIFE  AND  LABOUES.  177 

moreover,  been  proved  by  Biot  that  there  existed  two 
species  of  rock-crystal,  one  of  which  turned  the  plane 
of  polarisation  to  the  right,  and  the  other  to  the  left. 
They  were  called  respectively,  right-handed  and  left- 
handed  crystals.  No  external  difference  of  crystalline 
form  was  at  first  noticed  which  could  furnish  a  clue  to 
this  difference  of  action.  But  closer  scrutiny  revealed 
upon  the  crystals  minute  facets,  which,  in  the  one  class, 
were  ranged  along  a  right-handed,  and,  in  the  other, 
along  a  left-handed  spiral.  The  symmetry  of  the 
hexagonal  prism,  and  of  the  two  terminal  pyramids  of 
the  crystal,  was  disturbed  by  the  introduction  of  these 
spirally-arranged  facets.  They  constituted  the  outward 
and  visible  sign  of  that  inward  and  invisible  molecular 
structure  which  produced  the  observed  action,  and 
difference  of  action,  on  polarised  light. 

When,  therefore,  the  celebrated  Mitscherlich  brought 
forward  his  tartrates  and  .paratartrates  of  ammonia  and 
Boda,  and  affirmed  them  to  possess  the  same  atoms,  the 
same  internal  arrangement  of  atoms,  and  the  same  out- 
ward crystalline  form,  one  of  them,  nevertheless,  causing 
the  plane  of  polarisation  to  rotate,  while  the  other  did 
not,  Pasteur,  remembering  no  doubt  the  observations 
just  described,  instituted  a  search  for  facets  like  those 
discovered  in  rock-crystal,  which,  without  altering 
chemical  constitution,  destroyed  crystalline  identity. 
He  first  found  such  facets  in  the  tartrates,  while  he 
subsequently  proved  the  neutrality  of  the  paratartrate 
to  be  due  to  the  equal  admixture  of  right-handed  and 
left-handed  crystals,  one  of  which,  when  the  paratartrate 
was  dissolved,  exactly  neutralised  the  other. 

Prior  to  Pasteur  the  left-handed  tartrate  was  un- 
known. Its  discovery,  moreover,  was  supplemented  by 
a  series  of  beautiful  researches  on  the  compounds  of 
right-handed  and  left-handed  tartaric  acid  ;  he  having 


178  LOUIS  PASTEUB, 

previously  extracted  from  the  two  tartrates  acids  which, 
in  regard  to  polarised  light,  behaved  like  themselves. 
Such  was  the  worthy  opening  of  M.  Pasteur's  scientific 
career,  which  has  been  dwelt  upon  so  frequently  and 
emphatically  by  M.  Eadot.  The  wonder  however  is, 
not  that  a  searcher  of  such  penetration  as  Pasteur 
should  have  discovered  the  facets  of  the  tartrates,  but 
that  an  investigator  so  powerful  and  experienced  as 
Mitscherlich  should  have  missed  them. 

The  idea  of  molecular  dissymmetry,  introduced  by 
Biot,  was  forced  upon  Biot's  mind  by  the  discovery  of  a 
number  of  liquids,  and  of  some  vapours,  which  possessed 
the  rotatory  power.  Some,  moreover,  turned  the  plane 
of  polarisation  to  the  right,  others  to  the  left.  Crystal- 
line structure  being  here  out  of  the  question,  the  notion 
of  dissymmetry,  derived  from  the  crystal,  was  transferred 
to  the  molecule.  '  To  produce  any  such  phenomena, 
says  Sir  John  Herschel,  '  the  -individual  molecule  must 
be  conceived  as  unsymmetrically  constituted.'  The 
illustrations  employed  by  M.  Pasteur  to  elucidate  this 
subject,  though  well  calculated  to  give  a  general  idea 
of  dissymmetry,  will,  I  fear,  render  but  little  aid  to  the 
reader  in  his  attempts  to  realise  molecular  dissymmetry. 
Should  difficulty  be  encountered  here  at  the  threshold 
of  this  work,  I  would  recommend  the  reader  not  to  be 
daunted  by  it,  or  prevented  by  it  from  going  further. 
He  may  comfort  himself  by  the  assurance  that  the  con- 
ception of  a  dissymmetric  molecule  is  not  a  very  precise 
one,  even  in  the  mind  of  M.  Pasteur. 

One  word  more  with  regard  to  the  parentage  of 
preconceived  ideas.  M.  Eadot  informs  us  that  at 
Strasburg  M.  Pasteur  invoked  the  aid  of  helices  and 
magnets,  with  a  view  to  rendering  crystals  dissym- 
metrical at  the  moment  of  their  formation.  There 
can,  I  think,  be  but  little  doubt  that  such  experiments 


HIS  LIFE  AND  LABOUES.  179 

were  suggested  by  the  pregnant  discovery  of  Faraday, 
published  in  1845.  By  both  helices  and  magnets 
Faraday  caused  the  plane  of  polarisation  in  perfectly 
neutral  liquids  and  solids  to  rotate.  If  the  turning  of 
the  plane  of  polarisation  be  a  demonstration  of  mole- 
cular dissymmetry,  then,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye, 
Faraday  was  able  to  displace  symmetry  by  dissym- 
metry, and  to  confer  upon  bodies,  which  in  their 
ordinary  state  were  inert  and  dead,  this  power  of 
rotation  which  M.  Pasteur  considers  to  be  the  ex- 
clusive attribute  of  life. 

The  conclusion  of  M.  Pasteur  here  referred  to, 
which  M.  Kadot  justly  describes  as  'worthy  of  the 
most  serious  consideration,'  is  sure  to  arrest  the  atten- 
tion of  a  large  class  of  people,  who,  dreading  *  mate- 
rialism,' are  ready  to  welcome  any  generalisation 
which  differentiates  the  living  world  from  the  dead. 
M.  Pasteur  considers  that  his  researches  point  to  an 
irrefragable  physical  barrier  between  organic  and 
inorganic  Nature.  Never,  he  says,  have  you  been  able 
to  produce  in  the  laboratory,  by  the  ordinary  processes 
of  chemistry,  a  dissymmetric  molecule — in  other 
words,  a  substance  which,  in  a  state  of  solution,  where 
molecular  forces  are  paramount,  has  the  power  of 
causing  a  polarised  beam  to  rotate.  This  power  be- 
longs exclusively  to  derivatives  from  the  living  world. 
Dissymmetric  forces,  different  from  those  of  the  labora- 
tory, are,  in  Pasteur's  mind,  the  agents  of  vitality. 
They  alone  build  up  dissymmetric  molecules  which 
baffle  the  chemist  when  he  attempts  to  reproduce  them. 
Such  molecules  trace  their  ancestry  to  life  alone. 
'  Pourrait-on  indiquer  une  separation  plus  profonde 
entre  les  produits  de  la  nature  vivante,  et  ceux  de  la 
nature  minerale,  que  cette  dissymetrie  chez  les  uns, 
et  son  absence  chez  les  autres?'  It  may  be  worth 


180  LOUIS  PASTED K, 

calling  to  mind  that  molecular  dissymmetry  is  th< 
idea,  or  inference,  the  observed  rotation  of  the  plane 
of  polarisation  by  masses  of  sensible  magnitude  being 
the  fact,  on  which  the  inference  is  based. 

That  the  molecule,  or  unit  brick,  of  an  organism 
should  be  different  from  the  molecule  of  a  mineral  is 
only  to  be  expected,  for  otherwise  the  profound  dis- 
tinction between  them  would  disappear.  And  that 
one  of  the  differences  between  the  two  classes  of  mole- 
cules should  be  the  possession,  by  the  one,  of  this 
power  of  rotation,  and  its  non-possession  by  the  other, 
would  be  a  fact,  interesting  no  doubt,  but  not  surpris- 
ing. The  critical  point  here  has  reference  to  the  power 
and  range  of  chemical  processes,  apart  from  the  play  of 
vitality.  Beginning  with  the  elements  themselves, 
can  they  not  be  so  combined  as  to  produce  organic  com- 
pounds? Not  to  speak  of  the  antecedent  labours  of 
Wohler  and  others  in  Germany,  it  is  well  known  that 
various  French  investigators,  among  whom  are  some  of 
M.  Pasteur's  illustrious  colleagues  of  the  Academy, 
have  succeeded  in  forming  substances  which  were  once 
universally  regarded  as  capable  of  being  elaborated  by 
plants  and  animals  alone.  Even  with  regard  to  the 
rotation  of  the  plane  of  polarisation,  M.  Jungfleisch, 
an  extremely  able  pupil  of  the  celebrated  Berthelot, 
affirms  that  the  barrier  erected  by  M.  Pasteur  has  been 
broken  down ;  and  though  M.  Pasteur  questions  this 
affirmation,  it  is  at  least  hazardous,  where  so  many 
supposed  distinctions  between  organic  and  inorganic 
have  been  swept  away,  to  erect  a  new  one.  For  my 
part,  I  frankly  confess  my  disbelief  in  its  permanence. 

Without  waiting  for  new  facts,  those  already  in  our 
possession  tend,  I  think,  to  render  the  association 
which  M.  Pasteur  seeks  to  establish  between  dissym- 
metry and  life  insecure.  Quartz,  as  a  crystal,  exerts 


HIS  LIFE  AND  LABOUBS.  181 

a  very  powerful  twist  on  the  plane  of  polarisation. 
Quartz  dissolved  exerts  no  power  at  all.  The  mole- 
cules of  quartz,  then,  do  not  belong  to  the  same  category 
as  the  crystal  of  which  they  are  the  constituents ;  the 
former  are  symmetrical,  the  latter  is  dissymmetrical. 
This,  in  my  opinion,  is  a  very  significant  fact.  By  the 
act  of  crystallisation,  and  without  the  intervention  of 
life,  the  forces  of  molecules,  possessing  planes  of  sym- 
metry, are  so  compounded  as  to  build  up  crystals  which 
have  no  planes  of  symmetry.  Thus,  in  passing  from 
the  symmetrical  to  the  dissymmetrical,  we  are  not  com- 
pelled to  interpolate  new  forces ;  the  forces  extant  in 
mineral  nature  suffice.  The  reasoning  which  applies 
to  the  dissymmetric  crystal  applies  to  the  dissymme- 
tric molecule.  The  dissymmetry  of  the  latter,  however 
pronounced  and  complicated,  arises  from  the  compo- 
sition of  atomic  forces  which,  when  reduced  to  their 
most  elementary  action,  are  exerted  along  straight 
lines.  In  1865  I  ventured,  in  reference  to  this  subject, 
to  define  the  position  which  I  am  still  inclined  to  main- 
tain. '  It  is  the  compounding,  in  the  organic  world, 
of  forces  belonging  equally  to  the  inorganic  that  con- 
stitutes the  mystery  and  the  miracle  of  vitality.'  * 

Add  to  these  considerations  the  discovery  of  Fara- 
day already  adverted  to.  An  electric  current  is  not  an 
organism,  nor  does  a  magnet  possess  life ;  still,  by 
their  action,  Faraday,  in  his  first  essay,  converted  over 
one  hundred  and  fifty  symmetric  and  inert  aqueous 
solutions  into  dissymmetric  and  active  ones.* 

1  Art.  '  Vitality,'  Fragments  of  Science,  6th  edit.,  vol.  ii.  p.  50. 

1  In  Farad  ay  ^induced  dissymmetry,  the  ray  having  once  passed 
through  the  body  under  magnetic  influence,  has  its  rotation  doubled 
instead  of  neutralised,  as  in  the  case  of  quartz,  on  being  reflected 
back  through  the  body,  Marbach  has  discovered  that  chlorate  of 
soda  produces  circular  polarisation  in  all  directions  through  the 
crystal,  while  in  quarts  it  occurs  only  in  the  direction  of  the  axis. 


182  LOUIS  PASTEUR, 

Theory,  however,  may  change,  and  inference  may 
fade  away,  but  scientific  experiment  endures  for  ever. 
Such  durability  belongs,  in  the  domain  of  moleculai 
physics,  to  the  experimental  researches  of  M.  Pasteur. 

The  weightiest  events  of  life  sometimes  turn  upon 
small  hinges ;  and  we  now  come  to  the  incident  which 
caused  M.  Pasteur  to  quit  a  line  of  research  the  aban- 
donment of  which  he  still  regrets.  A  German  manu- 
facturer of  chemicals  had  noticed  that  the  impure 
commercial  tartrate  of  lime,  sullied  with  organic  mat- 
ters of  various  kinds,  fermented  when  it  was  dissolved 
in  water  and  exposed  to  summer  heat.  Thus  prompted, 
Pasteur  prepared  some  pure  right-handed  tartrate  of 
ammonia,  mixed  with  it  albuminous  matter,  and  found 
that  the  mixture  fermented.  His  solution,  limpid  at 
first,  became  turbid,  and  the  turbidity  he  found  to  be 
due  to  the  multiplication  of  a  microscopic  organism, 
which  found  in  the  liquid  its  proper  aliment.  Pasteur 
recognised  in  this  little  organism  a  living  ferment. 
This  bold  conclusion  was  doubtless  strengthened,  if 
not  prompted,  by  the  previous  discovery  of  the  yeast- 
plant — the  alcoholic  ferment — by  Cagniard-Latour  and 
Schwann. 

Pasteur  next  permitted  his  little  organism  to  take 
the  carbon  necessary  for  its  growth  from  the  pure 
paratartrate  of  ammonia.  Owing  to  the  opposition  of 
its  two  classes  of  crystals,  a  solution  of  this  salt,  it  will 
be  remembered,  does  not  turn  the  plane  of  polarised 
light  either  to  the  right  or  to  the  left.  Soon  after 
fermentation  had  set  in,  a  rotation  to  the  left  was 
noticed,  proving  that  the  equilibrium  previously  exist- 
ing between  the  two  classes  of  crystals  had  ceased. 

Marbach  also  discovered  facets  upon  his  crystals,  resembling  those 
of  quartz. 


HIS  LIFE  AND   LABOURS.  183 

The  rotation  reached  a  maximum,  after  which  it  was 
found  that  all  the  right-handed  tartrate  had  disap- 
peared from  the  liquid.  The  organism  thus  proved 
itself  competent  to  select  its  own  food.  It  found,  as 
it  were,  one  of  the  tartrates  more  digestible  than  the 
other,  and  appropriated  it,  to  the  neglect  of  the  other. 
No  difference  of  chemical  constitution  determined  its 
choice ;  for  the  elements,  and  the  proportions  of  the 
elements,  in  the  two  tartrates  were  identical.  But  the 
peculiarity  of  structure  which  enabled  the  substance  to 
turn  the  plane  of  polarisation  to  the  right,  also  ren- 
dered it  a  fit  aliment  for  the  organism.  This  most 
remarkable  experiment  was  successfully  made  with  the 
seeds  of  our  common  mould,  Penidllium  glaucum. 

Here  we  find  Pasteur  unexpectedly  landed  amid 
the  phenomena  of  fermentation.  With  true  scientific 
instinct  he  closed  with  the  conception  that  ferments 
are,  in  all  cases,  living  things,  and  that  the  substances 
formerly  regarded  as  ferments  are,  in  reality,  the  food 
of  the  ferments.  Touched  by  this  wand,  difficulties 
fell  rapidly  before  him.  He  proved  the  ferment  of 
lactic  acid  to  be  an  organism  of  a  certain  kind.  The 
ferment  of  butyric  acid  he  proved  to  be  an  organism  of 
a  different  kind.  He  was  soon  led  to  the  fundamental 
conclusion  that  the  capacity  of  an  organism  to  act  as  a 
ferment  depended  on  its  power  to  live  without  air. 
The  fermentation  of  beer  was  sufficient  to  suggest  this 
idea.  The  yeast-plant,  like  many  others,  can  live 
either  with  or  without  free  air.  It  flourishes  best  in 
contact  with  free  air,  for  it  is  then  spared  the  labour 
of  wresting  from  the  malt  the  oxygen  required  for  its 
sustenance.  Supplied  with  free  air,  however,  it  prac- 
tically ceases  to  be  a  ferment ;  while  in  the  brewing- vat, 
where  the  work  of  fermentation  is  active,  the  budding 
tonda,  is  completely  cut  off  by  the  sides  of  the  vessel, 


184  LOUIS  PASTEUR, 

and  by  a  deep  layer  of  carbonic  acid  gas,  from  all  con- 
tact with  air.  The  butyric  ferment  not  only  lives 
without  air,  but  Pasteur  showed  that  air  is  fatal  to  it. 
He  finally  divided  microscopic  organisms  into  two 
great  classes,  which  he  named  respectively  aerobies  and 
anatrobies,  the  former  requiring  free  oxygen  to  main- 
tain life,  the  latter  capable  of  living  without  free 
oxygen,  but  able  to  wrest  this  element  from  its  com- 
binations with  other  elements.  This  destruction  of 
pre-existing  compounds  and  formation  of  new  ones, 
through  the  increase  and  multiplication  of  the  orga- 
nism, constitute  the  process  of  fermentation. 

Under  this  head  are  also  rightly  ranked  the  phe- 
nomena of  putrefaction.  As  M.  Kadot  well  expresses 
it,  the  fermentation  of  sugar  may  be  described  as  the 
putrefaction  of  sugar.  In  this  particular  field  M.  Pas- 
teur, whose  contributions  to  the  subject  are  of  the 
highest  value,  was  preceded  by  Schwann,  a  man  of 
great  merit,  of  whom  the  world  has  heard  too  little.1 
Schwann  placed  decoctions  of  meat  in  flasks,  sterilised 
the  decoctions  by  boiling,  and  then  supplied  them  with 
calcined  air,  the  power  of  which  to  support  life  he 
showed  to  be  unimpaired.  Under  these  circumstances 
putrefaction  never  set  in.  Hence  the  conclusion  of 
Schwann,  that  putrefaction  was  not  due  to  the  contact 
of  air,  as  affirmed  by  Gray-Lussac,  but  to  something 
suspended  in  the  air  which  heat  was  able  to  destroy. 
This  something  consists  of  living  organisms,  which 
nourish  themselves  at  the  expense  of  the  organic 
substance,  and  cause  its  putrefaction. 

The  grasp  of  Pasteur  on  this  class  of  subjects 
was  embracing.  He  studied  acetic  fermentation,  and 

1  It  was  late  in  the  day  when  the  Eoyal  Society  made  him  a 
foreign  member. 


HIS  LIFE  AND  LABOURS.  185 

found  it  to  be  the  work  of  a  minute  fungus,  the  My- 
coderma  aceti,  which,  requiring  free  oxygen  for  its 
nutrition,  overspreads  the  surface  of  the  fermenting 
liquid.  By  the  alcoholic  ferment  the  sugar  of  the 
grape-juice  is  transformed  into  carbonic  acid  gas  and 
alcohol,  the  former  exhaling,  the  latter  remaining  in 
the  wine.  By  the  Mycoderma  aceti  the  wine  is,  in  its 
turn,  converted  into  vinegar.  Of  the  experiments  made 
in  connection  with  this  subject  one  deserves  special 
mention.  It  is  that  in  which  Pasteur  suppressed  all 
albuminous  matters,  and  carried  on  the  fermentation 
with  purely  crystallisable  substances.  He  studied  the 
deterioration  of  vinegar,  revealed  its  cause,  and  the 
means  of  preventing  it.  He  denned  the  part  played 
by  the  little  eel-like  organisms  which  sometimes  swarm 
in  vinegar-casks,  and  ended  by  introducing  important 
ameliorations  and  improvements  in  the  manufacture  oi 
vinegar.  The  discussion  with  Liebig  and  other  minor 
discussions  of  a  similar  nature,  which  M.  Eadot  has 
somewhat  strongly  emphasised,  I  will  not  here  dwell 
upon. 

It  was  impossible  for  an  inquirer  like  Pasteur  to 
evade  the  question — Whence  come  these  minute 
organisms  which  are  demonstrably  capable  of  producing 
effects  which  constitute  the  bases  of  industries  whereon 
whole  populations  depend  for  occupation  and  suste- 
nance ?  He  thus  found  himself  face  to  face  with  the 
question  of  *  spontaneous  generation,'  to  which  the 
researches  of  Pouchet  had  just  given  fresh  interest. 
Trained  as  Pasteur  was  in  the  experimental  sciences, 
he  had  an  immense  advantage  over  Pouchet,  whose 
culture  was  derived  from  the  sciences  of  observation. 
One  by  one  the  statements  and  experiments  of  Pouchet 
were  explained  or  overthrown,  and  the  doctrine  of  spon« 


186  LOUIS  PASTEUR, 

taneous  generation  remained  discredited  until  it  waa 
revived  with  ardour,  ability,  and,  for  a  time  with  suc- 
cess, by  Dr.  Bastian. 

A  remark  of  M.  Kadot's  on  page  103  needs  quali- 
fication. 'The  great  interest  of  Pasteur's  method 
consists,'  he  says,  'in  its  proving  unanswerably  that 
the  origin  of  life  in  infusions  which  have  been  heated 
to  the  boiling  point  is  solely  due  to  the  solid  particles 
suspended  in  the  air.'  This  means  that  living  germs 
cannot  exist  in  the  liquid  when  once  raised  to  a  tem- 
perature of  212°  Fahr.  No  doubt  a  great  number  of 
organisms  collapse  at  this  temperature ;  some,  indeed, 
as  M.  Pasteur  has  shown,  are  destroyed  at  a  tempera- 
ture of  90°  below  the  boiling  point.  But  this  is  by  no 
means  universally  the  case.  The  spores  of  the  hay- 
bacillus,  for  example,  have,  in  numerous  instances,  suc- 
cessfully resisted  the  boiling  temperature  for  one,  two, 
three,  four  hours  ;  while  in  one  instance  eight  hours' 
continuous  boiling  failed  to  sterilise  an  infusion  of 
desiccated  hay.  The  knowledge  of  this  fact  caused  me 
a  little  anxiety  some  years  ago  when  a  meeting  was 
projected  between  M.  Pasteur  and  Dr.  Bastian.  For 
though,  in  regard  to  the  main  question,  I  knew  that 
the  upholder  of  spontaneous  generation  could  not  win, 
on  the  particular  issue  touching  the  death  temperature 
he  would  probably  have  come  off  victor. 

The  manufacture  and  maladies  of  wine  next  occupied 
Pasteur's  attention.  He  had,  in  fact,  got  the  key  to 
this  whole  series  of  problems,  and  he  knew  how  to  use 
it.  Each  of  the  disorders  of  wine  was  traced  to  its 
specific  organism,  which,  acting  as  a  ferment,  produced 
substances  the  reverse  of  agreeable  to  the  palate.  By 
the  simplest  of  devices,  Pasteur  at  a  stroke  abolished 
the  causes  of  wine  disease.  Fortunately  the  foreign 


HIS  LIFE  AND  LABOURS.  187 

organisms  which,  if  unchecked,  destroy  the  best  red 
wines,  are  extremely  sensitive  to  heat.  A  temperature 
of  50°  Cent.  (122°  Fahr. )  suffices  to  kill  them.  Bottled 
wines  once  raised  to  this  temperature,  for  a  single 
minute,  are  secured  from  subsequent  deterioration. 
The  wines  suffer  in  no  degree  from  exposure  to  this 
temperature.  The  manner  in  which  Pasteur  proved 
this,  by  invoking  the  judgment  of  the  wine-tasters  of 
Paris,  is  as  amusing  as  it  is  interesting. 

Moved  by  the  entreaty  of  his  master,  the  illustrious 
Dumas,  Pasteur  took  up  the  investigation  of  the  diseases 
of  silkworms  at  a  time  when  the  silk-husbandry  of 
France  was  in  a  state  of  ruin.  In  doing  so  he  did 
not,  as  might  appear,  entirely  forsake  his  former  line  of 
research.  Previous  investigators  had  got  so  far  as  to 
discover  vibratory  corpuscles  in  the  blood  of  the  diseased 
worms,  and  with  such  corpuscles  Pasteur  had  already 
made  himself  intimately  acquainted.  He  was  there- 
fore to  some  extent  at  home  in  this  new  investigation. 
The  calamity  was  appalling,  all  the  efforts  made  to  stay 
the  plague  having  proved  futile.  In  June  1865  Pasteur 
betook  himself  to  the  scene  of  the  epidemic,  and  at  once 
commenced  his  observations.  On  the  evening  of  his 
arrival  he  had  already  discovered  the  corpuscles,  and 
shown  them  to 'others.  Acquainted  as  he  was  with  the 
work  of  living  ferments,  his  mind  was  prepared  to  see 
in  the  corpuscles  the  cause  of  the  epidemic.  He  fol- 
lowed them  through  all  the  phases  of  the  insect's  life — 
through  the  eggs,  through  the  worm,  through  the 
chrysalis,  through  the  moth.  He  proved  that  the  germ 
of  the  malady  might  be  present  in  the  eggs  and  escape 
detection.  In  the  worm  also  it  might  elude  micro- 
scopic examination.  But  in  the  moth  it  reached  a  de- 
velopment so  distinct  as  to  render  its  recognition  imme- 

13 


188  LOUIS  PASTEUR, 

diate.  From  healthy  moths  healthy  eggs  were  sure  to 
spring ;  from  healthy  eggs  healthy  worms  ;  from  healthy 
worms  fine  cocoons  :  so  that  the  problem  of  the  resto- 
ration to  France  of  its  silk-husbandry  reduced  itself  to 
the  separation  of  the  healthy  from  the  unhealthy  moths, 
the  rejection  of  the  latter,  and  the  exclusive  employ- 
ment of  the  eggs  of  the  former.  M.  Eadot  describes 
how  this  is  now  done  on  the  largest  scale,  with  the 
most  satisfactory  results. 

The  bearing  of  this  investigation  on  the  parasitic 
theory  of  communicable  diseases  was  thus  illustrated : 
Worms  were  infected  by  permitting  them  to  feed  for 
a  single  meal  on  leaves  over  which  corpusculous  matter 
had  been  spread;  they  were  infected  by  inoculation, 
and  it  was  shown  how  they  infected  each  other  by  the 
wounds  and  scratches  of  their  own  claws.  By  the  asso- 
ciation of  healthy  with  diseased  worms,  the  infection 
was  communicated  to  the  former.  Infection  at  a  dis- 
tance was  also  produced  by  the  wafting  of  the  corpus- 
cles through  the  air.  The  various  modes  in  which 
communicable  diseases  are  diffused  among  human  popu- 
lations were  illustrated  by  Pasteur's  treatment  of  the 
silkworms.  '  It  was  no  hypothetical  infected  medium 
— no  problematical  pythogenic  gas — that  killed  the 
worms.  It  was  a  definite  organism.' '  The  disease 
thus  far  described  is  that  called  pebrine,  which  was  the 
principal  scourge  at  the  time.  Another  formidable 
malady  was  also  prevalent,  called  flacherie,  the  cause 
of  which,  and  the  mode  of  dealing  with  it,  were  also 
pointed  out  by  Pasteur. 

Overstrained  by  years  of  labour  in  this  field,  Pasteur 
was  smitten  with  paralysis  in  October  1868.  But  this 
calamity  did  not  prevent  him  from  making  a  journey 

1  These  words  were  uttered  at  a  time  when  the  pythogenio  theory 
was  more  in  favour  than  it  is  now. 


HIS  LIFE   AND  LABOUKS.  189 

to  Alais  in  January  1869,  for  the  express  purpose  of 
combating  the  criticisms  to  which  his  labours  had  been 
subjected.  Pasteur  is  combustible,  and  contradiction 
readily  stirs  him  into  flame.  No  scientific  man  now 
living  has  fought  so  many  battles  as  he.  To  enable 
him  to  render  his  experiments  decisive,  the  French 
Emperor  placed  a  villa  at  his  disposal  near  Trieste, 
where  silkworm-culture  had  been  carried  on  for  some 
time  at  a  loss.  The  success  here  is  described  as  mar- 
vellous, the  sale  of  cocoons  giving  to  the  villa  a  net 
profit  of  twenty-six  millions  of  francs.1  From  the 
Imperial  villa  M.  Pasteur  addressed  to  me  a  letter,  a 
portion  of  which  I  have  already  published.  It  may 
perhaps  prove  usefully  suggestive  to  our  Indian  or 
Colonial  authorities  if  I  reproduce  it  here  : — 

'  Permettez-moi  de  terminerces  quelques  lignesque 
je  dois  dieter,  vaincu  que  je  suis  par  la  maladie,  en 
vous  faisant  observer  que  vous  rendriez  service  aux 
Colonies  de  la  Grande-Bretagne  en  repandant  la  con- 
naissance  de  ce  livre,  et  des  principes  que  j'etablis 
touchant  la  maladie  des  vers  a  soie.  Beaucoup  de  ces 
colonies  pourraient  cultiver  le  murier  avec  succes,  et, 
en  jetant  les  yeux  sur  mon  ouvrage,  vous  vous  convain- 
crez  aisement  qu'il  est  facile  aujourd'hui,  non  seulement 
d'eloigner  la  maladie  regnante,  mais  en  outre  de  donner 
aux  recoltes  de  la  soie  une  prosperity  qu'elles  n'ont 
jamais  eue.' 

The  studies  on  wine  prepare  us  for  the  *  studies  on 
beer,'  which  followed  the  investigation  of  silkworm 
diseases.  The  sourness,  putridity,  and  other  maladies 
of  beer,  Pasteur  traced  to  special  «  ferments  of  disease,' 
of  a  totally  different  form,  and  therefore  easily  distin- 

1  The  work  on  Diseases  of  SUknormt  was  dedicated  to  the 
Err. press  of  the  French. 


190  LOUIS  PASTEUR, 

guishable  from  the  true  torula  or  yeast-plant.  Many 
mysteries  of  our  breweries  were  cleared  up  by  this  in- 
quiry. Without  knowing  the  cause,  the  brewer  not 
unfrequently  incurred  heavy  losses  through  the  use  of 
bad  yeast.  Five  minutes'  examination  with  the  micro- 
scope would  have  revealed  to  him  the  cause  of  the 
badness,  and  prevented  him  from  using  the  yeast.  He 
would  have  seen  the  true  torula  overpowered  by  foreign 
intruders.  The  microscope  is,  I  believe,  now  everywhere 
in  use.  At  Burton-on-Trent  its  aid  was  very  soon  in- 
voked. At  the  conclusion  of  his  studies  on  beer  M. 
Pasteur  came  to  London,  where  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
conversing  with  him.  Crippled  by  paralysis,  bowed 
down  by  the  sufferings  of  France,  and  anxious  about  his 
family  at  a  troubled  and  an  uncertain  time,  he  appeared 
low  in  health  and  depressed  in  spirits.  His  robust 
appearance  when  he  visited  London,  on  the  occasion  of 
the  Edinburgh  Anniversary,  was  in  marked  and  pleasing 
contrast  with  my  memory  of  his  aspect  at  the  time  to 
which  I  have  referred. 

While  these  researches  were  going  on,  the  Germ 
Theory  of  infectious  disease  was  noised  abroad.  The 
researches  of  Pasteur  were  frequently  referred  to  as 
bearing  upon  the  subject,  though  Pasteur  himself  kept 
clear  for  a  long  time  of  this  special  field  of  inquiry. 
He  was  not  a  physician,  and  he  did  not  feel  called  upon 
to  trench  upon  the  physician's  domain.  And  now  I 
would  beg  of  him  to  correct  me  if,  at  this  point  of  the 
Introduction,  I  should  be  betrayed  into  any  statement 
that  is  not  strictly  correct. 

In  1876  the  eminent  microscopist,  Professor  Cohn, 
of  Breslau,  was  in  London,  and  he  then  handed  me 
a  number  of  his  'Beitrage,'  containing  a  memoir 
by  Dr.  Koch  on  Splenic  Fever  (Milzbrand,  Charbon, 


HIS  LIFE  AND  LABOURS.  191 

Malignant  Pustule),  which  seemed  to  me  to  mark  an 
epoch  in  the  history  of  this  formidable  disease.  With 
admirable  patience,  skill,  and  penetration  Koch  fol- 
lowed up  the  life-history  of  bacillus  anthracis,  the  con- 
tagium  of  this  fever.  At  the  time  here  referred  to  he 
was  a  young  physician  holding  a  small  appointment  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  Breslau,  and  it  was  easy  to  pre- 
dict, and  indeed  I  predicted  at  the  time,  that  he  would 
soon  find  himself  in  a  higher  position.  When  I  next 
heard  of  him  he  was  head  of  the  Imperial  Sanitary 
Institute  of  Berlin.  Koch's  recent  history  is  pretty 
well  known  in  England,  while  his  appreciation  by  the 
German  Government  is  shown  by  the  rewards  and 
honours  lately  conferred  upon  him. 

Koch  was  not  the  discoverer  of  the  parasite  of 
splenic  fever.  Davaine  and  Eayer,  in  1850,  had  ob- 
served the  little  microscopic  rods  in  the  blood  of 
animals  which  had  died  of  splenic  fever.  But  they 
were  quite  unconscious  of  the  significance  of  their 
observation,  and  for  thirteen  years,  as  M.  Eadot  informs 
us,  strangely  let  the  matter  drop.  In  1863  Davaine's 
attention  was  again  directed  to  the  subject  by  the 
researches  of  Pasteur,  and  he  then  pronounced  the 
parasite  to  be  the  cause  of  the  fever.  He  was  opposed 
by  some  of  his  fellow-countrymen ;  long  discussions 
followed,  and  a  second  period  of  thirteen  years,  ending 
with  the  publication  of  Koch's  paper,  elapsed  before 
M.  Pasteur  took  up  the  question.  I  always,  indeed, 
assumed  that  from  the  paper  of  the  learned  German 
came  the  impulse  towards  a  line  of  inquiry  in  which 
M.  Pasteur  has  achieved  such  splendid  results.  Things 
presenting  themselves  thus  to  my  mind,  M.  Radot 
will,  I  trust,  forgive  me  if  I  say  that  it  was  with  very 
great  regret  that  I  perused  the  disparaging  references  to 
Dr.  Koch  which  occur  in  the  chapter  on  splenic  fever. 


192  LOUIS  PASTEUR, 

After  Koch's  investigation,  no  doubt  could  be  en- 
tertained of  the  parasitic  origin  of  this  disease.  It 
completely  cleared  up  the  perplexity  previously  existing 
as  to  the  two  forms — the  one  fugitive,  the  other  perma- 
nent— in  which  the  contagium  presented  itself.  I  may 
here  remark  that  it  was  on  the  conversion  of  the  per- 
manent hardy  form  into  the  fugitive  and  sensitive  one, 
in  the  case  of  bacillus  subtilis  and  other  organisms,  that 
the  method  of  sterilising  by  '  discontinuous  heating ' 
introduced  by  me  in  February  1877  was  founded.  The 
difference  between  an  organism  and  its  spores,  in  point 
of  durability,  had  not  escaped  the  penetration  of 
Pasteur.  This  difference  Koch  showed  to  be  of  para- 
mount importance  in  splenic  fever.  He  moreover 
proved  that  while  mice  and  guinea-pigs  were  infallibly 
killed  by  the  parasite,  birds  were  able  to  defy  it. 

And  here  we  come  upon  what  may  be  called  a  hand- 
specimen  of  the  genius  of  Pasteur,  which  strikingly 
illustrates  its  quality.  Why  should  birds  enjoy  the 
immunity  established  by  the  experiments  of  Koch  ? 
Here  is  the  answer.  The  temperature  which  prohibits 
the  multiplication  of  bacillus  anthrads  in  infusions  is 
44°  Cent.  (111°  Fahr.).  The  temperature  of  the  blood 
of  birds  is  from  41°  to  42°.  It  is  therefore  close  to 
the  prohibitory  temperature.  But  then  the  blood- 
globules  of  a  living  fowl  are  sure  to  offer  a  certain 
resistance  to  any  attempt  to  deprive  them  of  their 
oxygen — a  resistance  not  experienced  in  an  infusion. 
May  not  this  resistance,  added  to  the  high  tempera- 
ture of  the  fowl,  suffice  to  place  it  beyond  the  power 
of  the  parasite  ?  Experiment  alone  could  answer  this 
question,  and  Pasteur  made  the  experiment.  By  the  ap- 
plication of  cold  water  he  lowered  the  temperature  of 
a  fowl  to  37°  or  38°.  He  inoculated  the  fowl,  thus 
chilled,  with  the  splenic  fever  parasite,  and  in  twenty 


HIS  LIFE  AND  LABOUES.  193 

four  hours  it  was  dead.  The  argument  was  clinched 
by  inoculating  a  chilled  fowl,  permitting  the  fever  to 
come  to  a  head,  and  then  removing  the  fowl,  wrapped 
in  cotton-wool,  to  a  chamber  with  a  temperature  of  45°. 
The  strength  of  the  patient  returned  as  the  career  of 
the  parasite  was  brought  to  an  end,  and  in  a  few  hours 
health  was  restored.  The  sharpness  of  the  reasoning 
here  is  only  equalled  by  the  conclusiveness  of  the  ex- 
periment, which  is  full  of  suggestiveness  as  regards  the 
treatment  of  fevers  in  man. 

Pasteur  had  little  difficulty  in  establishing  the  para- 
sitic origin  of  fowl-cholera;  indeed,  the  parasite  had 
been  observed  by  others  before  him.  But,  by  his  suc- 
cessive cultivations,  he  rendered  the  solution  pure.  His 
next  step  will  remain  for  ever  memorable  in  the  history 
of  medicine.  I  allude  to  what  he  calls  '  virus  attenua- 
tion.' And  here  it  may  be  well  to  throw  out  a  few 
remarks  in  advance.  When  a  tree,  or  a  bundle  of 
wheat  or  barley  straw,  is  burnt,  a  certain  amount  of 
mineral  matter  remains  in  the  ashes — extremely  small 
in  comparison  with  the  bulk  of  the  tree  or  of  the  straw, 
but  absolutely  essential  to  its  growth.  In  a  soil  lacking, 
or  exhausted  of,  the  necessary  mineral  constituents,  the 
tree  cannot  live,  the  crop  cannot  grow.  Now  contagia 
are  living  things,  which  demand  certain  elements  of  life 
just  as  inexorably  as  trees,  or  wheat,  or  barley ;  and  it 
is  not  difficult  to  see  that  a  crop  of  a  given  parasite  may 
so  far  use  up  a  constituent  existing  in  small  quantities 
in  the  body,  but  essential  to  the  growth  of  the  parasite, 
as  to  render  the  body  unfit  for  the  production  of  a 
second  crop.  The  soil  is  exhausted,  and,  until  the  lost 
constituent  is  restored,  the  body  is  protected  from  any 
further  attack  of  the  same  disorder.  Some  such  expla- 
nation of  non -recurrent  diseases  naturally  presents  itseli 


194  LOUIS  PASTEUE, 

to  a  thorough  believer  in  the  germ  theory,  and  such 
was  the  solution  which,  in  reply  to  a  question,  I  ven- 
tured to  offer  nearly  fifteen  years  ago  to  an  eminent 
London  physician.1  To  exhaust  a  soil,  however,  a  para- 
site less  vigorous  and  destructive  than  the  really  viru- 
lent one  may  suffice ;  and  if,  after  having  by  means  of 
a  feebler  organism  exhausted  the  soil  without  fatal 
result,  the  most  highly  virulent  parasite  be  introduced 
into  the  system,  it  will  prove  powerless.2 

The  general  problem,  of  which  Jenner's  discovery 
was  a  particular  case,  has  been  grasped  by  Pasteur,  in 
a  manner,  and  with  results,  which  five  short  years  ago 
were  simply  unimaginable.  How  much  '  accident ' 
had  to  do  with  shaping  the  course  of  his  inquiries  I 
know  not.  A  mind  like  his  resembles  a  photographic 
plate,  which  is  ready  to  accept  and  develop  luminous 
impressions,  sought  and  unsought.  In  the  chapter  on 
fowl-cholera  is  described  how  Pasteur  first  obtained  his 
attenuated  virus.  By  successive  cultivations  of  the 
parasite,  he  showed  that  after  it  had  been  a  hundred 
times  reproduced,  it  continued  to  be  as  virulent  as  at 
first.  One  necessary  condition  was,  however,  to  be 
observed.  It  was  essential  that  the  cultures  should 
rapidly  succeed  each  other — that  the  organism,  before 
its  transference  to  a  fresh  cultivating  liquid,  should  not 
be  left  long  in  contact  with  air.  When  exposed  to  air 
for  a  considerable  time  the  virus  becomes  so  enfeebled 
that  when  fowls  are  inoculated  with  it,  though  they 
sicken  for  a  time,  they  do  not  die.  But  this  '  attenuated ' 
virus,  which  M.  Eadot  justly  calls  'benign,'  constitutes 
a  sure  protection  against  the  virulent  virus.  It  so 
exhaists  the  soil  that  the  really  fatal  contagium  fails 

1  Sir  Thomas  Watson. 

•  liecent  researches  suggest  other  explanations. 


HIS  LIFE  AND  LABOURS.  195 

to  find  there  the  elements  necessary  to  its  reproduction 
and  multiplication. 

Pasteur  affirms  that  it  is  the  oxygen  of  the  air 
which,  by  lengthened  contact,  weakens  the  virus  and 
converts  it  into  a  true  vaccine.  He  has  also  weakened 
it  by  transmission  through  various  animals.  It  waa 
this  form  of  attenuation  that  was  brought  into  play  in 
the  case  of  Jenner. 

The  secret  of  attenuation  had  thus  become  an  open 
one  to  Pasteur.  He  laid  hold  of  the  murderous  virus 
of  splenic  fever,  and  succeeded  in  rendering  it,  not 
only  harmless  to  life,  but  a  sure  protection  against  the 
virus  in  its  most  concentrated  form.  No  man,  in  my 
opinion,  can  work  at  these  subjects  so  rapidly  as 
Pasteur  without  falling  into  errors  of  detail.  But  this 
may  occur  while  his  main  position  remains  impreg- 
nable. Such  a  result,  for  example,  as  that  ob- 
tained in  presence  of  so  many  witnesses  at  Melun 
must  remain  an  ever- memorable  conquest  of  science. 
Having  prepared  his  attenuated  virus,  and  proved  by 
laboratory  experiments  its  efficacy  as  a  protective 
vaccine,  Pasteur  accepted  an  invitation  from  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  Society  of  Agriculture  at  Melun  to  make  a 
public  experiment  on  what  might  be  called  an  agricul- 
tural scale.  This  act  of  Pasteur's  is,  perhaps,  the 
boldest  thing  recorded  in  this  book.  .  It  naturally 
caused  anxiety  among  his  colleagues  of  the  Academy, 
who  feared  that  he  had  been  rash  in  closing  with  the 
proposal  of  the  President. 

But  the  experiment  was  made.  A  flock  of  sheep 
was  divided  into  two  groups,  the  members  of  one  group 
being  all  vaccinated  with  the  attenuated  virus,  while 
those  of  the  other  group  were  left  unvaccinated.  A 
number  of  cows  were  also  subjected  to  a  precisely 
similar  treatment.  Fourteen  days  afterwards,  all  the 


196  LOUIS  PASTEUR, 

sheep  and  all  the  cows,  vaccinated  and  unvaccinated, 
were  inoculated  with  a  very  virulent  virus ;  and  three 
days  subsequently  more  than  two  hundred  persons 
assembled  to  witness  the  result.  The  '  shout  of  admi- 
ration,' mentioned  by  M.  Eadot,  was  a  natural  outburst 
under  the  circumstances.  Of  twenty-five  sheep  which 
had  not  been  protected  by  vaccination,  twenty-one  were 
already  dead,  and  the  remaining  four  were  dving.  The 
twenty-five  vaccinated  sheep,  on  the  contrary,  were  '  in 
full  health  and  gaiety.'  In  the  unvaccinated  cows 
intense  fever  was  produced,  while  the  prostration  was 
so  great  that  they  were  unable  to  eat.  Tumours  were 
also  formed  at  the  points  of  inoculation.  In  the  vac- 
cinated cows  no  tumours  were  formed ;  they  exhibited 
no  fever,  nor  even  an  elevation  of  temperature,  while 
their  power  of  feeding  was  unimpaired.  No  wonder 
that  '  breeders  of  cattle  overwhelmed  Pasteur  with 
applications  for  vaccine.'  At  the  end  of  1881  close 
upon  34,000  animals  had  been  vaccinated,  while  the 
number  rose  in  1883  to  nearly  500,000. 

M.  Pasteur  is  now  [1884]  exactly  sixty-two  years  of 
age ;  but  his  energy  is  unabated.  At  the  end  of  this 
volume  we  are  informed  thathe  has  already  taken  up  and 
examined  with  success,  as  far  as  his  experiments  have 
reached,  the  terrible  and  mysterious  disease  of  rabies 
or  hydrophobia.  Those  who  hold  all  communicable 
diseases  to  be  of  parasitic  origin,  include,  of  course, 
rabies  among  the  number  of  those  produced  and  pro- 
pagated by  a  living  contagium.  From  his  first  contact 
with  the  disease  Pasteur  showed  his  accustomed  pene- 
tration. If  we  see  a  man  mad,  we  at  once  refer  his 
madness  to  the  state  of  his  brain.  It  is  somewhat 
singular  that  in  the  face  of  this  fact  the  virus  of  a  mad 
dog  should  be  referred  to  the  animal's  saliva.  The 


HIS  LIFE  AND  LABOURS.  197 

saliva  is  no  doubt  infected,  but  Pasteur  soon  proved 
the  real  seat  and  empire  of  the  disorder  to  be  the 
nervous  system. 

The  parasite  of  rabies  had  not  been  securely  isolated 
•when  M.  Eadot  finished  his  task.  But  last  May,  at 
the  instance  of  M.  Pasteur,  a  commission  was  ap- 
pointed by  the  Minister  of  Public  Instruction  in 
France,  to  examine  and  report  upon  the  results  which 
he  had  up  to  that  time  obtained.  A  preliminary  re- 
port, issued  to  appease  public  impatience,  reached  me 
before  I  quitted  Switzerland  this  year.  It  inspires  the 
sure  and  certain  hope  that,  as  regards  the  attenuation 
of  the  rabic  virus,  and  the  rendering  of  an  animal  by 
inoculation  proof  against  attack,  the  success  of  M. 
Pasteur  is  assured.  The  Commission,  though  hitherto 
extremely  active,  is  far  from  the  end  of  its  labours; 
but  the  results  obtained  so  far  may  be  thus  summed 
up:— 

Of  six  dogs  unprotected  by  vaccination,  three  suc- 
cumbed to  the  bites  of  a  dog  in  a  furious  state  of 
madness. 

Of  eight  unvaccinated  dogs,  six  succumbed  to  the 
intravenous  inoculation  of  rabic  matter. 

Of  five  unvaccinated  dogs,  all  succumbed  to  inocu- 
lation, by  trepanning,  of  the  brain. 

Finally,  of  three-and-t\venty  vaccinated  dogs,  not 
one  was  attacked  with  the  disease  subsequent  to  in- 
oculation with  the  most  potent  virus. 

Surely  results  such  as  those  recorded  in  this  book 
are  calculated,  not  only  to  arouse  public  interest,  but  to 
excite  public  hope  and  wonder.  Never  before,  during  the 
long  period  of  its  history,  did  a  day  like  the  present 
dawn  upon  the  science  and  art  of  medicine.  Indeed, 
previous  to  the  discoveries  of  recent  times,  medicine 
was  not  a  science,  but  a  collection  of  empirical  rules, 


198      LOUIS  PASTEUR,  HIS  LIFE  AND  LABOURS. 

dependent  for  their  interpretation  and  application  upon 
the  sagacity  of  the  physician.  How  does  England  stand 
in  relation  to  the  great  work  now  going  on  around 
her  ?  She  is,  and  must  be,  behindhand.  Scientific 
chauvinism  is  not  beautiful  in  my  eyes.  Still,  one  can 
hardly  see,  without  deprecation  and  protest,  the  English 
investigator  handicapped  in  so  great  a  race  by  short- 
sighted and  mischievous  legislation. 

A  great  scientific  theory  has  never  been  accepted 
without  opposition.  The  theory  of  gravitation,  the 
theory  of  undulation,  the  theory  of  evolution,  the 
dynamical  theory  of  heat — all  had  to  push  their  way 
through  conflict  to  victory.  And  so  it  has  been  with 
the  Germ  Theory  of  communicable  diseases.  Some 
outlying  members  of  the  medical  profession  dispute  it- 
still.  I  am  told  they  even  dispute  the  communica- 
bility  of  cholera.  Such  must  always  be  the  course  of 
things,  as  long  as  men  are  endowed  with  different 
degrees  of  insight.  Where  the  mind  of  genius  dis- 
cerns the  distant  truth,  which  it  pursues,  the  mind 
not  so  gifted  often  discerns  nothing  but  the  extra- 
vagance, which  it  avoids.  Names,  not  yet  forgotten, 
could  be  given  to  illustrate  these  two  classes  of  minds. 
As  representative  of  the  first  class,  I  would  name  a 
man  whom  I  have  often  named  before,  who  fought, 
in  England,  the  battle  of  the  germ  theory  with 
persistent  valour,  but  whose  labours  broke  him  down 
before  he  saw  the  triumph  which  he  foresaw  completed. 
Many  of  my  medical  friends  will  understand  that  I 
allude  here  to  the  late  Dr.  William  Budd,  of  Bristol. 

The  task  expected  of  me  is  now  accomplished,  and 
the  reader  is  here  presented  with  a  record,  in  which 
the  verities  of  science  are  endowed  with  the  interest  of 
romance. 


1884. 
THE  RAINBOW  AND  ITS  CONGENERS* 

THE  oldest  historic  reference  to  the  rainbow  is  known 
to  all :  *  I  do  set  my  bow  in  the  cloud,  and  it  shall 
be  for  a  token  of  a  covenant  between  me  and  the  earth. 
.  .  .  And  the  bow  shall  be  in  the  cloud  ;  and  I  shall 
look  upon  it,  that  I  may  remember  the  everlasting 
covenant  between  God  and  every  living  creature  of  all 
flesh  that  is  upon  the  earth.'  To  the  sublime  concep- 
tions of  the  theologian  succeeded  the  desire  for  exact 
knowledge  characteristic  of  the  man  of  science.  What- 
ever its  ultimate  cause  might  have  been,  the  proximate 
cause  of  the  rainbow  was  physical,  and  the  aim  of 
science  was  to  account  for  the  bow  on  physical  principles. 
Progress  towards  this  consummation  was  very  slow. 
Slowly  the  ancients  mastered  the  principles  of  reflection. 
Still  more  slowly  were  the  laws  of  refraction  dug  from 
the  quarries  in  which  Nature  had  embedded  them.  I 
use  this  language,  because  the  laws  were  incorporate  in 
Nature  before  they  were  discovered  by  man.  Until  the  time 
of  Alhazan,  an  Arabian  mathematician,  who  lived  at  the 
beginning  of  the  twelfth  century,  the  views  entertained 
regarding  refraction  were  utterly  vague  and  incorrect. 
After  Alhazan  came  Roger  Bacon  and  Vitellio,1  who 

1  A  Friday  evening  discourse  at  the  Royal  Institution. 

*  Whewell  (History  of  the  Inductive  Sciencet,  vol.  i.  p.  345)  de- 
scribes Vitellio  as  a  Pole.  His  mother  was  a  Pole  ;  bnt  Poggendorfl 
(Handirorterbuch  d.  exacten  Wissensnhaften)  claims  Vitellio  himseli 


200  THE  EAINBOW 

made  and  recorded  many  observations  and  measurements 
on  the  subject  of  refraction.  To  them  succeeded  Kepler, 
who,  taking  the  results  tabulated  by  his  predecessors, 
applied  his  amazing  industry  to  extract  from  them  their 
meaning — that  is  to  say,  to  discover  the  physical  prin- 
ciples which  lay  at  their  root.  In  this  attempt  he  was 
less  successful  than  in  his  astronomical  labours.  In 
1604  Kepler  published  his  'Supplement  to  Vitellio,'  in 
which  he  virtually  acknowledged  his  defeat  by  enun- 
ciating an  approximate  rule,  instead  of  an  all-satisfying 
natural  law.  The  discovery  of  such  a  law,  which  con- 
stitutes one  of  the  chief  corner-stones  of  optical  science, 
was  made  by  Willebrord  Snell,  about  162 1.1 

A  ray  of  light  may,  for  our  purposes,  be  presented 
to  the  mind  as  a  luminous  straight  line.  Let  such  a  ray 
be  supposed  to  fall  vertically  upon  a  perfectly  calm  water- 
surface.  The  incidence,  as  it  is  called,  is  then  perpen- 
dicular, and  the  'ray  goes  through  the  water  without 
deviation  to  the  right  or  left.  In  other  words,  the  ray 
in  the  air  and  the  ray  in  the  water  form  one  continuous 
straight  line.  But  the  least  deviation  from  the  perpen- 
dicular causes  the  ray  to  be  broken,  or  '  refracted,'  at 
the  point  of  incidence.  What,  then,  is  the  law  of  re- 
fraction discovered  by  Snell?  It  is  this,  that  no  matter 
how  the  angle  of  incidence,  and  with  it  the  angle  of  re- 
fraction, may  vary,  the  relative  magnitude  of  two  lines, 
dependent  on  these  angles,  and  called  their  sines,  re- 
mains, for  the  same  medium,  perfectly  unchanged. 
Measure,  in  other  words,  for  various  angles,  each  of 
these  two  lines  with  a  scale,  and  divide  the  length  of 
the  longer  one  by  that  of  the  shorter ;  then,  however 
the  lines  individually  vary  in  length,  the  quotient 

as   a  German,   born   in   Thiiringen.     '  Vitellio '   is  described  as  a 
corrupt  ion  of  Witelo. 

1  Born  at  Leyden,  1591;  died  1626. 


AND  ITS  CONGENERS.  201 

yielded  by  this  division  remains  absolutely  the  same. 
It  is,  in  fact,  what  is  called  '  the  index  of  refraction '  of 
the  medium. 

Science  is  an  organic  growth,  and  accurate 
measurements  give  coherence  to  the  scientific  organism. 
Were  it  not  for  the  antecedent  discovery  of  the  law  of 
sines,  founded  as  it  was  on  exact  measurements,  the 
rainbow  could  not  have  been  explained.  Again  and 
again,  moreover,  the  angular  distance  of  the  rainbow 
from  the  sun  had  been  determined  and  found  constant. 
In  this  divine  remembrancer  there  was  no  variableness. 
A  line  drawn  from  the  sun  to  the  rainbow,  and  another 
drawn  from  the  rainbow  to  the  observer's  eye,  always 
enclosed  an  angle  of  41°.  Whence  this  steadfastness 
of  position — this  inflexible  adherence  to  a  particular 
angle  ?  Newton  gave  to  De  Dominis  l  the  credit  of  the 
answer  ;  but  we  really  owe  it  to  the  genius  of  Descartes. 
He  followed  with  his  mind's  eye  the  rays  of  light  im- 
pinging on  a  raindrop.  He  saw  them  in  part  reflected 
from  the  outside  surface  of  the  drop.  He  saw  them  re- 
fracted on  entering  the  drop,  reflected  from  its  back, 
and  again  refracted  on  their  emergence.  Descartes 
was  acquainted  with  the  law  of  Snell,  and  taking  up 
his  pen  he  calculated,  by  means  of  that  law,  the  whole 
course  of  the  rays.  He  proved  that  the  vast  majority 
of  them  escaped  from  the  drop  as  divergent  rays,  and, 
on  this  account,  soon  became  so  enfeebled  as  to  produce 
no  sensible  effect  upon  the  eye  of  an  observer.  At  one 
particular  angle,  however — namely,  the  angle  41°  afore- 
said— they  emerged  in  a  practically  parallel  sheaf  .  In 
their  union  was  strength,  for  it  was  this  particular 

1  Archbishop  of  Spalatro  and  Primate  of  Dalmatia.  Fled  to 
England  about  1616 ;  became  a  Protestant,  and  was  made  Dean  of 
Windsor.  Returned  to  Italy,  and  resumed  his  Catholicism  ;  but  wa» 
handed  over  to  the  Inquisition,  and  died  in  prison  (Poggendorff  '* 
Hiographical  Dictionary') 


202  THE  RAINBOW 

sheaf  which  carried  the  light  of  the  *  primary  '  rainbow 
to  the  eye. 

There  is  a  certain  form  of  emotion  called  intellectual 
pleasure,  which  may  be  excited  by  poetry,  literature, 
Nature,  or  art.  But  I  doubt  whether  among  the  plea- 
sures of  the  intellect  there  is  any  more  pure  and  con- 
centrated than  that  experienced  by  the  scientific  man 
when  a  difficulty  which  has  challenged  the  human  mind 
for  ages  melts  before  his  eyes,  and  re-crystallises  as  an 
illustration  of  natural  law.  This  pleasure  was  doubtless 
experienced  by  Descartes  when  he  succeeded  in  placing 
upon  its  true  physical  basis  the  most  splendid  meteor 
of  our  atmosphere.  Descartes  showed,  moreover,  that 
the  '  secondary  bow '  was  produced  when  the  rays  of 
light  underwent  two  reflections  within  the  drop,  and 
two  refractions  at  the  points  of  incidence  and  emer- 
gence. 

It  is  said  that  Descartes  behaved  ungenerously  to 
Snell — that,  though  acquainted  with  the  unpublished 
papers  of  the  learned  Dutchman,  he  failed  to  acknow- 
ledge his  indebtedness.  On  this  I  will  not  dwell,  for  I 
notice  on  the  part  of  the  public  a  tendency,  at  all  events 
in  some  cases,  to  emphasise  such  shortcomings.  The 
temporary  weakness  of  a  great  man  is  often  taken  as  a 
sample  of  his  whole  character.  The  spot  upon  the  sun 
usurps  the  place  of  his  '  surpassing  glory.'  This  is  not 
unfrequent,  but  it  is  nevertheless  unfair. 

Descartes  proved  that,  according  to  the  principles  of 
refraction,  a  circular  band  of  light  must  appear  in  the 
heavens  exactly  where  the  rainbow  is  seen.  But  how 
are  the  colours  of  the  bow  to  be  accounted  for  ?  Here 
his  penetrative  mind  came  to  the  very  verge  of  the 
solution,  but  the  limits  of  knowledge  at  the  time  barred 
his  further  progress.  He  connected  the  colours  of  the 
rainbow  with  those  produced  by  a  prism  ;  but  then  these 


AND  ITS   CONGENERS.  203 

latter  needed  explanation  just  as  much  as  the  colours 
of  the  bow  itself.  The  solution,  indeed,  was  not  possible 
until  the  composite  nature  of  white  light  had  been 
demonstrated  by  Newton.  Applying  the  law  of  Snell 
to  the  different  colours  of  the  spectrum,  Newton  proved 
that  the  primary  bow  must  consist  of  a  series  of  concen- 
tric circular  bands,  the  largest  of  which  is  red  and  the 
smallest  violet;  while  in  the  secondary  bow  these  colours 
must  be  reversed.  The  main  secret  of  the  rainbow,  if 
I  may'  use  such  language,  was  thus  revealed. 

I  have  said  that  each  colour  of  the  rainbow  is 
carried  to  the  eye  by  a  sheaf  of  approximately  parallel 
rays.  But  what  determines  this  parallelism?  Here 
our  real  difficulties  begin,  but  they  are  to  be  surmounted 
by  attention.  Let  us  endeavour  to  follow  the  course 
of  the  solar  rays  before  and  after  they  impinge  upon  a 
spherical  drop  of  water.  Take,  first  of  all,  the  ray  that 
passes  through  the  centre  of  the  drop.  This  particular 
ray  strikes  the  back  of  the  drop  as  a  perpendicular,  its 
reflected  portion  returning  along  its  own  course.  Take 
another  ray  close  to  this  central  one  and  parallel  to  it 
— for  the  sun's  rays  when  they  reach  the  earth  are 
parallel.  When  this  second  ray  enters  the  drop  it  is 
refracted  ;  on  reaching  the  back  of  the  drop  it  is  there 
reflected,  being  a  second  time  refracted  on  its  emergence 
from  the  drop.  Here  the  incident  and  the  emergent 
rays  enclose  a  small  angle  with  each  other.  Take,  again, 
a  third  ray  a  little  further  from  the  central  one  than 
the  last.  The  drop  will  act  upon  it  as  it  acted  upon 
its  neighbour,  the  incident  and  emergent  rays  enclosing 
in  this  instance  a  larger  angle  than  before.  As  we 
retreat  farther  from  the  central  ray  the  enlargement  of 
this  angle  continues  up  to  a  certain  point,  where  it 
reaches  a  maximum,  after  which  farther  retreat  from 
the  central  ray  diminishes  the  angle.  Now,  a  maximum 
14 


204  THE  RAINBOW 

resembles  the  ridge  of  a  hill,  or  a  watershed,  from 
which  the  land  falls  in  a  slope  at  each  side.  In  the 
case  before  us  the  divergence  of  the  rays  when  they 
quit  the  raindrop  would  be  represented  by  the  steep- 
ness of  the  slope.  On  the  top  of  the  watershed — that 
is  to  say,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  our  maximum — is  a 
kind  of  summit-level,  where  the  slope  for  some  distance 
almost  disappears.  But  the  disappearance  of  the  slope 
indicates,  in  the  case  of  our  raindrop,  the  absence  of 
divergence.  Hence  we  find  that  at  our  maximum,  and 
close  to  it,  there  issues  from  the  drop  a  sheaf  of  rays 
which  are  nearly,  if  not  quite,  parallel  to  each  other 
These  are  the  so-called  '  effective  rays '  of  the  rainbow. 
Let  me  here  point  to  a  series  of  measurements  which 
will  illustrate  the  gradual  augmentation  of  the  deflec- 
tion just  referred  to  until  it  reaches  its  maximum,  and 
its  gradual  diminution  at  the  other  side  of  the  maxi- 
mum. The  measures  correspond  to  a  series  of  angles 
of  incidence  which  augment  by  steps  of  ten  degrees. 


i 

d 

d 

10°    , 

.     10° 

60°    . 

.    42°  28' 

20°    . 

.     19°  36' 

70°    . 

.    39°  48' 

30°    . 

.    28°  2(X 

80°    . 

.    31°   4' 

40°    . 

.    35°  36' 

90°    . 

.        .    15° 

50°    . 

.    40°  40' 

1  There  is,  in  fact,  a  bundle  of  rays  near  the  maximum,  which, 
when  they  enter  the  drop,  are  converged  by  refraction  almost  exactly 
to  the  same  point  at  its  back.  If  the  convergence  were  quitf  exact, 
then  the  symmetry  of  the  liquid  sphere  would  cause  the  rays  to  quit 
the  drop  as  they  entered  it — that  is  to  say,  perfectly  parallel.  But 
inasmuch  as  the  convergence  is  not  quite  exact,  the  parallelism  aft  er 
emergence  is  only  approximate.  The  emergent  rays  cut  each  other 
at  extremely  sharp  angles,  thus  forming  a  '  caustic '  which  has  f.n 
its  asymptote  the  ray  of  maximum  deviation.  In  the  secondary 
bow  we  have  to  deal  with  a  minimum,  instead  of  a  maximum,  the 
crossing  of  the  incident  and  emergent  rays  producing  the  oh?erved 
reversal  of  the  colours.  (See  Engel  and  Shellbach's  published  dia- 
grams of  the  rainbow.) 


AND  ITS  CONGENERS.  205 

The  figures  in  the  column  i  express  the  angles  of  inci- 
dence, while  under  d  we  have  in  each  case  the  accom- 
panying deviation,  or  the  angle  enclosed  by  the  incident 
and  emergent  rays.  It  will  be  seen  that  as  the  angle  i 
increases,  the  deviation  also  increases  up  to  42°  28',  after 
which,  although  the  angle  of  incidence  goes  on  aug- 
menting, the  deviation  becomes  less.  The  maximum 
42°  28'  corresponds  to  an  incidence  of  60°,  but  in  reality 
at  this  point  we  have  already  passed,  by  a  small  quantity, 
the  exact  maximum,  which  occurs  between  58°  and  59°. 
Its  amount  is  42°  30'.  This  deviation  corresponds  to 
the  red  band  of  the  rainbow.  In  a  precisely  similar 
manner  the  other  colours  rise  to  their  maximum,  and 
fall  on  passing  beyond  it ;  the  maximum  for  the  violet 
band  being  40°  30'.  The  entire  width  of  the  primary 
rainbow  is  therefore  2°,  part  of  this  width  being  due  to 
the  angular  magnitude  of  the  sun. 

We  have  thus  revealed  to  us  the  geometric  con- 
struction of  the  rainbow.  But  though  the  step  here 
taken  by  Descartes  and  Newton  was  a  great  one,  it  left 
the  theory  of  the  bow  incomplete.  Within  the  rain- 
bow proper,  in  certain  conditions  of  the  atmosphere, 
are  seen  a  series  of  richly-coloured  zones,  which  were 
not  explained  by  either  Descartes  or  Newton.  They  are 
said  to  have  been  first  described  by  Mariotte,1  and  they 
long  challenged  explanation.  At  this  point  our  difficul- 
ties thicken,  but,  as  before,  they  are  to  be  overcome  by 
attention.  It  belongs  to  the  very  essence  of  a  maxi- 
mum, approached  continuously  on  both  sides,  that  on 
the  two  sides  of  it  pairs  of  equal  value  may  be  found. 
The  maximum  density  of  water,  for  example,  is  39° 
Fahr.  Its  density,  when  5°  colder  and  when  5°  warmer 
than  this  maximum,  is  the  same.  So  also  with 

1  Prior  of  St.  Martin-sous-Beaune,  near  Dijon ;  member  of  the 
French  Academy  of  Sciences.     Died  in  Paris,  Mayl684. 


206  THE  RAINBOW 

regard  to  the  slopes  of  a  watershed.  A  series  of  paira 
of  points  of  the  same  elevation  can  be  found  upon  the 
two  sides  of  the  ridge  ;  and,  in  the  case  of  the  rainbow, 
on  the  two  sides  of  the  maximum  deviation  we  have  a 
succession  of  pairs  of  rays  having  the  same  deflection. 
Such  rays  travel  along  the  same  line,  and  add  their 
forces  together  after  they  quit  the  drop.  But  light, 
thus  reinforced  by  the  coalescence  of  non-divergent 
rays,  ought  to  reach  the  eye.  It  does  so ;  and  were 
light  what  it  was  once  supposed  to  be — a  flight  of 
minute  particles  sent  by  luminous  bodies  through  space 
— then  these  pairs  of  equally-deflected  rays  would 
diffuse  brightness  over  a  large  portion  of  the  area  within 
the  primary  bow.  But  inasmuch  as  light  consists  of 
waves,  and  not  of  particles,  the  principle  of  interfer- 
ence comes  into  play,  in  virtue  of  which  waves  alter- 
nately reinforce  and  destroy  each  other.  Were  the 
distance  passed  over  by  the  two  corresponding  rays 
within  the  drop  the  same,  they  would  emerge  as  they 
entered.  But  in  no  case  are  the  distances  the  same. 
The  consequence  is  that  when  the  rays  emerge  from 
the  drop  they  are  in  a  condition  either  to  support  or 
to  destroy  each  other.  By  such  alternate  reinforce- 
ment and  destruction,  which  occur  at  different  places 
for  different  colours,  the  coloured  zones  are  produced 
within  the  primary  bow.  They  are  called  '  super- 
numerary bows,'  and  are  seen,  not  only  within  the 
primary,  but  sometimes  also  outside  the  secondary  bow. 
The  condition  requisite  for  their  production  is,  that 
the  drops  which  constitute  the  shower  shall  all  be  of 
nearly  the  same  size.  When  the  drops  are  of  different 
sizes,  we  have  a  confused  superposition  of  the  different 
colours,  an  approximation  to  white  light  being  the  con- 
sequence. This  second  step  in  the  explanation  of  the 
rainbow  was  taken  by  a  man  the  quality  of  whose 


AND   ITS   CONGENERS.  207 

genius  resembled  that  of  Descartes  or  Newton,  and 
who  eighty-two  years  ago  was  appointed  Professor  of 
Natural  Philosophy  in  the  Royal  Institution  of  Great 
Britain.  I  refer,  of  course,  to  the  illustrious  Thomas 
Young.1 

But  our  task  is  not,  even  now,  complete.  The 
finishing  touch  to  the  explanation  of  the  rainbow 
was  given  by  our  eminent  Astronomer  Royal,  Sir 
George  Airy.  Bringing  the  knowledge  possessed  by 
the  founders  of  the  undulatory  theory,  and  that  gained 
by  subsequent  workers,  to  bear  upon  the  question,  Sir 
George  Airy  showed,  that,  though  Young's  general 
principles  were  unassailable,  his  calculations  were  some- 
times wide  of  the  maik.  It  was  proved  by  Airy  that 
the  curve  of  maximum  illumination  in  the  rainbow 
does  not  quite  coincide  with  the  geometric  curve  of 
Descartes  and  Newton.  He  also  extended  our  know- 
ledge of  the  supernumerary  bows,  and  corrected  the 
positions  which  Young  had  assigned  to  them.  Finally, 
Professor  Miller,  of  Cambridge,  and  Dr.  Galle,  of 
Berlin,  illustrated  by  careful  measurements  with  the 
theodolite  the  agreement  which  exists  between  the 
theory  of  Airy  and  the  facts  of  observation.  Thus, 
from  Descartes  to  Airy,  the  intellectual  force  expended 
in  the  elucidation  of  the  rainbow,  though  broken  up 
into  distinct  personalities,  might  be  regarded  as  that  of 
an  individual  artist,  engaged  throughout  this  time  in 
lovingly  contemplating,  revising,  and  perfecting  his 
work. 

> 

We  have  thus  cleared  the  ground  for  the  series  of 
experiments  which  constitute  the  subject  of  this  dis- 
course. During  our  brief  residence  in  the  Alps  this 
year,  we  were  favoured  with  some  weather  of  matchless 

1  Young's  Works,  edited  by  Peacock,  vol.  L  pp.  185,  293,  357. 


203  THE  RAINBOW 

perfection;  but  we  had  also  our  share  of  foggy  and 
drizzly  weather.  On  the  night  of  the  22nd  of  Septem- 
ber the  atmosphere  was  especially  dark  and  thick.  At 
9  P.M.  I  opened  a  door  at  the  end  of  a  passage  and 
looked  out  into  the  gloom.  Behind  me  hung  a  small  lamp, 
by  which  the  shadow  of  my  body  was  cast  upon  the  fog. 
Such  a  shadow  I  had  often  seen,  but  in  the  present 
case  it  was  accompanied  by  an  appearance  which  I  had 
not  previously  noticed.  Swept  through  the  darkness 
round  the  shadow,  and  far  beyond,  not  only  its  boun- 
dary, but  also  beyond  that  of  the  illuminated  fog,  was  a 
pale,  white,  luminous  circle,  complete  except  at  the 
point  where  it  was  cut  through  by  the  shadow.  As  I 
walked  out  into  the  fog,  this  curious  halo  went  in 
advance  of  me.  Had  not  my  demerits  been  so  well 
known  to  me,  I  might  have  accepted  the  phenomenon 
as  an  evidence  of  canonisation.  Benvenuto  Cellini  saw 
something  of  the  kind  surrounding  his  shadow,  and 
ascribed  it  forthwith  to  supernatural  favour.  I  varied 
the  position  and  intensity  of  the  lamp,  and  found  even 
a  candle  sufficient  to  render  the  luminous  band  visible. 
With  two  crossed  laths  I  roughly  measured  the  angle 
subtended  by  the  radius  of  the  circle,  and  found  it  to 
be  practically  the  angle  which  had  riveted  the  attention 
of  Descartes — namely,  41°.  This  and  other  facts  led 
me  to  suspect  that  the  halo  was  a  circular  rainbow.  A 
week  subsequently,  the  air  being  in  a  similar  misty 
condition,  the  luminous  circle  was  well  seen  from 
another  door,  the  lamp  which  produced  it  standing  on 
a  table  behind  me. 

It  is  not,  however,  necessary  to  go  to  the  Alps  to 
witness  this  singular  phenomenon.  Amid  the  heather 
of  Hind  Head  I  have  had  erected  a  hut,  to  which  I 
escape  when  my  brain  needs  rest  or  my  muscles  lack 
vigour.  The  hut  has  two  doors,  one  opening  to  the 


AND  ITS  CONGENERS.  209 

north  and  the  other  to  the  south,  and  in  it  we  have 
been  able  to  occupy  ourselves  pleasantly  and  profitably 
during  the  recent  misty  weather.  Removing  the  shade 
from  a  small  petroleum  lamp,  and  placing  the  lamp 
behind  me,  as  I  stood  in  either  doorway,  the  luminous 
circles  surrounding  my  shadow  on  different  nights  were 
very  remarkable.  Sometimes  they  were  best  to  the 
north,  and  sometimes  the  reverse,  the  difference  de- 
pending for  the  most  part  on  the  direction  of  the  wind. 
On  Christmas  night  the  atmosphere  was  particularly 
favourable.  It  was  filled  with  true  fog,  through  which, 
however,  descended  palpably  an  extremely  fine  rain. 
Both  to  the  north  and  to  the  south  of  the  hut  the 
luminous  circles  were  on  this  occasion  specially  bright 
and  well  defined.  They  were,  as  I  have  said,  swept 
through  the  fog  far  beyond  its  illuminated  area,  and  it 
was  the  darkness  against  which  they  were  projected 
which  enabled  them  to  shed  so  much  apparent  light. 
The  *  effective  rays,'  therefore,  which  entered  the  eye 
in  this  observation  gave  direction,  but  not  distance,  so 
that  the  circles  appeared  to  come  from  a  portion  of  the 
atmosphere  which  had  nothing  to  do  with  their  pro- 
duction. When  the  lamp  was  taken  out  into  the  fog, 
the  illumination  of  the  medium  almost  obliterated  the 
halo.  Once  educated,  the  eye  could  trace  it,  but  it 
was  toned  down  almost  to  vanishing.  There  is  some 
advantage,  therefore,  in  possessing  a  hut,  on  a  moor  or 
on  a  mountain,  having  doors  which  limit  the  area  of 
fog  illuminated. 

I  have  now  to  refer  to  another  phenomenon  which 
is  but  rarely  seen,  and  which  I  had  an  opportunity  of 
witnessing  on  Christmas  Day.  The  mist  and  drizzle  in 
the  early  morning  had  been  very  dense ;  a  walk  before 
breakfast  caused  the  nap  of  my  somewhat  fluffy  pilot- 
dress  to  be  covered  with  minute  water-globules,  which, 


210  THE  KAINBOW 

against  the  dark  background  underneath,  suggested 
the  bloom  of  a  plum.  As  the  day  advanced,  the  south- 
eastern heaven  became  more  luminous ;  and  the  pale 
disk  of  the  sun  was  at  length  seen  struggling  through 
drifting  clouds.  At  ten  o'clock  the  sun  had  become 
fairly  victorious,  the  heather  was  adorned  by  pendent 
drops,  while  certain  branching  grasses,  laden  with  liquid 
pearls,  presented,  in  the  sunlight,  an  appearance  of 
exquisite  beauty.  Walking  across  the  common  to  the 
Portsmouth  road  my  wife  and  I,  on  reaching  it,  turned 
our  faces  sunwards.  The  smoke-like  fog  had  vanished, 
but  its  disappearance  was  accompanied,  or  perhaps 
caused,  by  the  coalescence  of  its  minuter  particles  into 
little  globules,  visible  where  they  caught  the  light  at  a 
proper  angle,  but  not  otherwise.  •  They  followed  every 
eddy  of  the  air,  upwards,  downwards,  and  from  side  to 
side.  Their  extreme  mobility  was  well  calculated  to 
suggest  a  notion  prevalent  on  the  Continent,  that  the 
particles  of  a  fog,  instead  of  being  full  droplets,  are 
really  little  bladders  or  vesicles.  Clouds  are  supposed 
to  owe  their  power  of  flotation  to  this  cause.  This 
vesicular  theory  never  struck  root  in  England  ;  nor  has 
it,  I  apprehend,  any  foundation  in  fact.  .  ' 

As  I  stood  in  the  midst  of  these  eddying  specks,  so 
visible  to  the  eye,  yet  so  small  and  light  as  to  be  per- 
fectly impalpable  to  the  skin  both  of  hands  and  face,  I 
remarked,  '  These  particles  must  surely  yield  a  bow  of 
some  kind.'  Turning  my  back  to  the  sun,  I  stooped 
down  so  as  to  keep  well  within  the  layer  of  particles, 
which  I  supposed  to  be  a  shallow  one,  and,  looking 
towards  the  '  Devil's  Punch  Bowl,'  saw  the  anticipated 
phenomenon.  A  bow  without  colour  spanned  the  Punch 
Bowl.  Though  white  and  pale  it  was  well  defined, 
and  exhibited  an  aspect  of  weird  grandeur.  Once  or 
twice  I  fancied  a  faint  ruddiness  could  be  discerned  on 


AND  ITS  CONGENERS.  211 

its  outer  boundary.  The  stooping  was  not  necessary, 
and  as  we  walked  along  the  new  Portsmouth  road,  with 
the  Punch  Bowl  to  our  left,  the  white  arch  marched 
along  with  us.  At  a  certain  point  we  ascended  to  the 
old  Portsmouth  road,  whence,  with  a  flat  space  of  verj 
dark  heather  in  the  foreground,  we  watched  the  bow. 
The  sun  had  then  become  strong,  and  the  sky  above  us 
blue,  nothing  which  could  in  any  proper  sense  be  called 
rain  existing  at  the  time  in  the  atmosphere.  Suddenly 
my  companion  exclaimed,  '  I  see  the  whole  circle 
meeting  at  my  feet  I '  At  the  same  moment  the  circle 
became  visible  to  me  also.  It  was  the  darkness  of  our 
immediate  foreground  that  enabled  us  to  see  the  lower 
half  of  the  pale  luminous  band  projected  against  it. 
We  walked  round  Hind  Head  Common  with  the  bo^* 
almost  always  in  view.  Its  crown  sometimes  disap- 
peared, showing  that  the  minute  globules  which  pro- 
duced it  did  not  extend  to  any  great  height  in  the 
atmosphere.  In  such  cases  two  shining  buttresses 
were  left  behind,  which,  had  not  the  bow  been  pre- 
viously seen,  would  have  lacked  all  significance.  In 
some  of  the  combes,  or  valleys,  where  the  floating  par- 
ticles had  collected  in  greater  numbers,  the  end  of  the 
bow  plunging  into  the  combe  emitted  a  light  of  more 
than  the  usual  brightness.  During  our  walk  the  bow 
was  broken  and  re-formed  several  times ;  and,  had  it 
not  been  for  our  previous  experience  both  in  the  Alps 
and  at  Hind  Head,  it  might  well  have  escaped  atten- 
tion. What  this  colourless  white  bow  lost  in  intensity, 
as  compared  with  the  ordinary  coloured  bow,  was  more 
than  atoned  for  by  its  weirdness  and  its  novelty  to 
both  observers. 

The  white  rainbow  (farc-en-del  blanc)  was  first 
described  by  the  Spaniard  Don  Antonio  de  Ulloa,  Lieu- 
tenant of  the  Company  of  Gentlemen  Guards  of  the 


212  THE  RAINBOW 

Marine.  By  order  of  the  King  of  Spain,  Don  Jorge 
Juan  and  Ulloa  made  an  expedition  to  South  America, 
an  account  of  which  is  given  in  two  amply-illustrated 
quarto  volumes  to  he  found  in  the  library  of  the  Royal 
Institution.  The  bow  was  observed  from  the  summit 
of  the  mountain  Pambamarca,  in  Peru.  The  angle 
subtended  by  its  radius  was  33°  30',  which  is  con- 
siderably less  than  the  angle  subtended  by  the  radius 
of  the  ordinary  bow.  Between  the  phenomenon  ob- 
served by  us  on  Christmas  Day,  and  that  described  by 
Ulloa,  there  are  some  points  of  difference.  In  his  case 
fog  of  sufficient  density  existed  to  enable  the  shadows 
of  him  and  his  six  companions  to  be  seen,  each  how- 
ever only  by  the  person  whose  body  cast  the  shadow. 
Around  the  head  of  each  were  observed  those  zones  of 
colour  which  characterise  the '  spectre  of  the  Brocken.' 
In  our  case  no  shadows  were  to  be  seen,  for  there  was 
no  fog-screen  on  which  they  could  be  cast.  This  im- 
plies also  the  absence  of  the  zones  of  colour  observed 
by  Ulloa. 

The  white  rainbow  has  been  explained  in  various 
ways.  A  learned  Frenchman,  M.  Bravais,  who  has 
written  much  on  the  optical  phenomena  of  the  atmo- 
sphere, and  who  can  claim  the  additional  recommenda- 
tion of  being  a  distinguished  mountaineer,  has  sought 
to  connect  the  bow  with  the  vesicular  theory  to  which 
I  have  just  referred.  This  theory,  however,  is  more 
than  doubtful,  and  it  is  not  necessary.1  The  genius  of 
Thomas  Young  throws  light  upon  this  subject,  as  upon 
so  many  others.  He  showed  that  the  whiteness  of  the 
bow  was  a  direct  consequence  of  the  smallness  of  the 
drops  which  produce  it.  In  fact,  the  wafted  water- 

1  The  vesicular  theory  was  combated  very  ably  in  France  by  the 
Abb6  Raillard,  who  has  also  given  an  interesting  analysis  of  the 
rainbow  at  the  end  of  his  translation  of  my  Nates  on  Light. 


AND   ITS  CONGENERS.  213 

(•pecks  seen  by  us  upon  Hind  Head1  were  the  very 
kind  needed  for  the  production  of  the  phenomenon. 
But  the  observations  of  TJlloa  place  his  white  bow  dis- 
tinctly within  the  arc  that  would  be  occupied  by  the 
ordinary  rainbow — that  is  to  say,  in  the  region  of  super- 
numeraries— and  by  the  action  of  the  supernumeraries 
upon  each  other  Ulloa's  bow  was  accounted  for  by 
Thomas  Young.  The  smaller  the  drops,  the  broader 
are  the  zones  of  the  supernumerary  bows,  and  Young 
proved  by  calculation  that  when  the  drops  have  a 
diameter  of  -^V^h  or  TcVo^h  °f  an  inch,  the  bands 
overlap  each  other,  and  produce  white  light  by  their 
mixture.  Unlike  the  geometric  bow,  the  radius  of  the 
white  bow  varies  within  certain  limits,  which  M.  Bra- 
vais  shows  to  be  33°  30'  and  41°  46'  respectively.  In 
the  latter  case  the  white  bow  is  the  ordinary  bow 
deprived  of  its  colour  by  the  superposition  due  to  the 
smallness  of  the  drops.  In  all  the  other  cases  it  is 
produced  by  the  action  of  the  supernumeraries. 

The  physical  investigator  desires  not  only  to  ob- 
serve natural  phenomena  but  to  re-create  them — to 
bring  them,  that  is,  under  the  dominion  of  experiment. 
From  observation  we  learn  what  Nature  is  willing  to 
reveal.  In  experimenting  we  place  her  in  the  witness- 
box,  cross-examine  her,  and  extract  from  her  knowledge 
in  excess  of  that  which  would,  or  could,  be  sponta- 
neously given.  Accordingly,  on  my  return  from  Swit- 
zerland last  October,  I  sought  to  reproduce  in  the 
laboratory  the  effects  observed  among  the  mountains. 
My  first  object,  therefore,  was  to  obtain  artificially  a 
mixture  of  fog  and  drizzle  like  that  observed  from  the 

1  Had  our  refuge  in  the  Alps  been  built  on  the  southern  side  of 
the  valley  of  the  Rhone,  so  as  to  enable  us  to  look  with  the  suo 
behind  us  into  the  valley  and  across  it,  we  should,  I  think,  have  fre- 
quently seen  the  white  bow. 


214  THE  RAINBOW 

door  of  our  Alpine  cottage.  A  strong  cylindrical  cop- 
per boiler,  sixteen  inches  high  and  twelve  inches  in 
diameter,  was  nearly  filled  with  water  and  heated  by  gas- 
flames  until  steam  of  twenty  pounds  pressure  was  pro- 
duced. A  valve  at  the  top  of  the  boiler  was  then 
opened,  when  the  steam  issued  violently  into  the 
atmosphere,  carrying  droplets  of  water  mechanically 
along  with  it,  and  condensing  above  to  droplets  of  a 
similar  kind.  A  fair  imitation  of  the  Alpine  atmo- 
sphere was  thus  produced.  After  a  few  tentative  ex- 
periments, the  luminous  circle  was  brought  into  view, 
and  having  once  got  hold  of  it,  the  next  step  was  to 
enhance  its  intensity.  Oil-lamps,  the  lime-light,  and 
the  naked  electric  light  were  tried  in  succession,  the 
source  of  rays  being  placed  in  one  room,  the  boiler  in 
another,  while  the  observer  stood,  with  his  back  to  the 
light,  between  them.  It  is  not,  however,  necessary  to 
dwell  upon  these  first  experiments,  surpassed  as  they 
were  by  the  arrangements  subsequently  adopted.  My 
mode  of  proceeding  was  this.  The  electric  light  being 
placed  in  a  camera  with  a  conden sing-lens  in  front, 
the  position  of  the  lens  was  so  fixed  as  to  produce  a 
beam  sufficiently  broad  to  clasp  the  whole  of  my  head, 
and  leave  an  aureole  of  light  around  it.  It  being  de- 
sirable to  lessen  as  much  as  possible  the  foreign  light 
entering  the  eye,  the  beam  was  received  upon  a  distant 
black  surface,  and  it  was  easy  to  move  the  head  until 
its  shadow  occupied  the  centre  of  the  illuminated  area. 
To  secure  the  best  effect  it  was  found  necessary  to 
stand  close  to  the  boiler,  so  as  to  be  immersed  in  the 
fog  and  drizzle.  The  fog,  however,  was  soon  discovered 
to  be  a  mere  nuisance.  Instead  of  enhancing,  it  blurred 
the  effect,  and  I  therefore  sought  to  abolish  it.  Allow- 
ing the  steam  to  issue  for  a  few  seconds  from  the 
boiler,  on  closing  the  valve,  the  cloud  rapidly  melted 


AND   ITS   CONGENERS.  215 

away,  leaving  behind  it  a  host  of  minute  liquid 
spherules  floating  in  the  beam.  An  intensely-coloured 
circular  rainbow  was  instantly  seen  in  the  air  in  front 
of  the  observer.  The  primary  bow  was  duly  attended 
by  its  secondary,  with  the  colours,  as  usual,  reversed. 
The  opening  of  the  valve  for  a  single  second  caused 
the  bows  to  flash  forth.  Thus,  twenty  times  in  succes- 
sion, puffs  could  be  allowed  to  issue  from  the  boiler, 
every  puff  being  followed  by  the  appearance  of  this 
splendid  meteor.  The  bows  produced  by  single  puffs 
are  evanescent,  because  the  little  globules  rapidly  dis- 
appear. Greater  permanence  is  secured  when  the  valve 
is  left  open  for  an  interval  sufficient  to  discharge  a 
copious  amount  of  drizzle  into  the  air.1 

Many  other  appliances  for  producing  a  fine  rain 
have  been  tried,  but  a  reference  to  two  of  them  will 
suffice.  The  rose  of  a  watering-pot  naturally  suggests 
a  means  of  producing  a  shower  ;  and  on  the  principle 
of  the  rose  I  had  some  spray-pro ducers  constructed. 
In  each  case  the  outer  surface  was  convex,  the  thin 
convex  metal  plate  being  pierced  by  orifices  too  small 
to  be  seen  by  the  naked  eye.  Small  as  they  are,  fillets 
of  very  sensible  magnitude  issue  from  the  orifices, 
but  at  some  distance  below  the  orifices  the  fillets  shake 
themselves  asunder  and  form  a  fine  rain.  The  small 

1  It  is  perhaps  worth  noting  here,  that  when  the  camera  and  lens 
are  used,  the  beam  which  sends  its  '  effective  rays '  to  the  eye  may 
not  be  more  than  a  foot  in  width,  while  the  circular  bow  engendered 
by  these  rays  may  be,  to  all  appearance,  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  in 
diameter.  In  such  a  beam,  indeed,  the  drops  which  produce  the  bow 
must  be  very  near  the  eye,  for  rays  from  the  more  distant  drops 
would  not  attain  the  required  angle.  The  apparent  distance  of  the 
circular  bow  is  often  great  in  comparison  with  that  of  the  originat- 
ing drops.  Both  distance  and  diameter  may  be  made  to  undergo 
variations.  In  the  rainbow  we  do  not  see  a  localised  object,  but 
receive  a  luminous  impression,  which  is  often  transferred  to  a  por- 
tion of  the  field  of  view  far  removed  from  the  bow's  origin. 


216  THE  KAINBOW 

orifices  are  very  nable  to  get  clogged  by  the  particles 
suspended  in  London  water.  In  experiments  with  the 
rose,  filtered  water  was  therefore  resorted  to.  A  large 
vessel  was  mounted  on  the  roof  of  the  Eoyal  Institu- 
tion, from  the  bottom  of  which  descended  vertically 
a  piece  of  compo-tubing,  an  inch  in  diameter  and 
about  twenty  feet  long.  By  means  of  proper  screw- 
fittings,  a  single  rose,  or  when  it  is  desired  to 
increase  the  magnitude  or  density  of  the  shower,  a 
group  of  two,  three,  or  four  roses,  was  attached  to 
the  end  of  the  compo-tube.  From  these,  on  the  turn- 
ing on  of  a  cock,  the  rain  fell.  The  circular  bows 
produced  by  such  rain  are  far  richer  in  colour  than 
those  produced  by  the  smaller  globules  of  the  con- 
densed steam.  To  see  the  effect  in  all  its  beauty  and 
completeness,  it  is  necessary  to  stand  well  within  the 
shower,  not  outside  of  it.  A  waterproof  coat  and  cap 
are  therefore  needed,  to  which  a  pair  of  goloshes  may 
be  added  with  advantage.  A  person  standing  outside 
the  beam  may  see  bits  of  both  primary  and  secondary 
bows  in  the  places  fixed  by  their  respective  angles ;  but 
the  colours  are  washy  and  unimpressive.  Within  the 
shower,  with  the  shadow  of  the  head  occupying  its 
proper  position  on  the  screen,  the  brilliancy  of  the 
effect  is  extraordinary.  The  primary  clothes  itself  in 
the  richest  tints,  while  the  secondary,  though  less 
vivid,  shows  its  colours  in  surprising  strength  and 
purity. 

But  the  primary  bow  is  accompanied  by  appearances 
calculated  to  attract  and  rivet  attention  almost  more 
than  the  bow  itself.  I  have  already  mentioned  the 
existence  of  effective  rays  over  and  above  those  which 
go  to  form  the  geometric  bow.  They  fall  within  the 
primary,  and,  to  use  the  words  of  Thomas  Young, 
*  would  exhibit  a  continued  diffusion  of  fainter  light, 


AND  ITS  CONGENERS.  217 

but  for  the  general  law  of  interference  which  divides 
the  light  into  concentric  rings.'  One  could  almost 
wish  for  the  opportunity  of  showing  Young  how  lite- 
rally his  words  are  fulfilled,  and  how  beautifully  his 
theory  is  illustrated,  by  these  artificial  circular  rain- 
bows. For  here  the  space  within  the  primaries  is 
swept  by  concentric  supernumerary  bands,  coloured 
like  the  rainbow,  and  growing  gradually  narrower  as 
they  retreat  from  the  primary.  These  spurious  bows, 
as  they  are  sometimes  called,1  which  constitute  one  of 
the  most  striking  illustrations  of  the  principle  of  in- 
terference, are  separated  from  each  other  by  zones  of 
darkness,  where  the  light-waves  on  being  added  to- 
gether destroy  each  other.  I  have  counted  as  many 
as  eight  of  these  beautiful  bands,  concentric  with  the 
true  primary.  The  supernumeraries  are  formed  next 
to  the  most  refrangible  colour  of  the  bow,  and  there- 
fore occur  within  the  primary  circle.  But  in  the 
secondary  bow,  the  violet,  or  most  refrangible  colour, 
is  on  the  outside;  and,  following  the  violet  of  the 
secondary,  I  have  sometimes  counted  as  many  as  five 
spurious  bows.  Some  notion  may  be  formed  of  the 
intensity  of  the  primary,  when  the  secondary  is  able  to 
produce  effects  of  this  description. 

An  extremely  handy  spray-producer  is  that  em- 
ployed to  moisten  the  air  in  the  Houses  of  Parliament. 
A  fillet  of  water,  issuing  under  strong  pressure  from  a 
small  orifice,  impinges  on  a  little  disk  placed  at  a 
distance  of  about  one-twentieth  of  an  inch  from  the 
orifice.  On  striking  the  disk,  the  water  spreads  later- 
ally, and  breaks  up  into  an  exceedingly  fine  spray.  Here 
also  I  have  used  the  spray-producer  both  singly  and 
in  groups,  the  latter  arrangement  being  resorted  to 
when  showers  of  special  breadth  and  density  were  re- 
1  A  term,  I  confess,  not  to  my  liking. 


218  THE  KAINBOW 

quired.  In  regard  to  primaries,  secondaries,  and  super- 
numeraries, extremely  brilliant  effects  have  been 
obtained  with  this  form  of  spray -producer.  Tha 
quantity  of  water  called  upon  being  much  less  than 
that  required  by  the  rose,  the  fillet-and-disk  instru- 
ment produces  less  flooding  of  the  locality  where  the 
experiments  are  made.  In  this  latter  respect,  the 
steam-boiler  spray  is  particularly  handy.  A  puff  of  two 
seconds'  duration  suffices  to  bring  out  the  bows,  the 
subsequent  shower  being  so  light  as  to  render  the  use 
of  waterproof  clothing  unnecessary.  In  other  cases, 
the  inconvenience  of  flooding  may  be  avoided  to  a 
great  extent  by  turning  on  the  spray  for  a  short  time 
only,  and  then  cutting  off  the  supply  of  water.  The 
vision  of  the  bow  being,  however,  proportionate  to  the 
duration  of  the  shower,  will,  when  the  shower  is  brief, 
be  evanescent.  Hence,  when  quiet  and  continued 
contemplation  of  all  the  phenomena  is  desired,  the 
observer  must  make  up  his  mind  to  brave  the  rain.1 

In  one  important  particular  the  spray-producer  last 
described  commends  itself  to  our  attention.  With  it 
we  can  operate  on  substances  more  costly  than  water, 
and  obtain  rainbows  from  liquids  of  the  most  various 
refractive  indices.  To  extend  the  field  of  experiment 
in  this  direction,  the  following  arrangement  has  been 
devised :  A  strong  cylindrical  iron  bottle,  wholly  or 
partly  filled  with  the  liquid  to  be  experimented  on,  is 
tightly  closed  by  a  brass  cap.  Through  the  cap  passes 
a  metal  tube,  soldered  air-tight  where  it  crosses  the 
cap,  and  ending  near  the  bottom  of  the  iron  bottle.  To 
the  free  end  of  this  tube  is  attached  the  spray-pro- 
ducer. A  second  tube  passes  also  through  the  cap,  but 
ends  above  the  surface  of  the  liquid.  This  second  tube, 

1  The  rays  which  form  the  artificial  bow  emerge,  as  might  b« 
expected,  polarised  from  the  drops. 


AND  ITS  CONGENERS.  219 

which  is  long  and  flexible,  is  connected  with  a  larger 
iron  bottle,  containing  compressed  air.  Hoisting  the 
small  bottle  to  a  convenient  height,  the  tap  of  the 
larger  bottle  is  carefully  opened,  the  air  passes  through 
the  flexible  tube  to  the  smaller  bottle,  exerts  its  pres- 
sure upon  the  surface  of  the  liquid  therein  contained, 
drives  it  up  the  other  tube,  and  causes  it  to  impinge 
with  any  required  degree  of  force  against  the  disk  of 
the  spray-producer.  From  this  it  falls  in  a  fine  rain. 
A  great  many  liquids,  including  coloured  ones,1  have 
been  tested  by  this  arrangement,  and  very  remarkable 
results  have  been  obtained.  I  will  confine  myself  here 
to  a  reference  to  two  liquids,  which  commend  them- 
selves on  account  of  their  cheapness  and  of  the  bril- 
liancy of  their  effects.  Spirit  of  turpentine,  forced 
from  the  iron  bottle  and  caused  to  fall  in  a  fine  shower, 
produces  a  circular  bow  of  extraordinary  intensity  and 
depth  of  colour.  With  paraffin  oil  or  petroleum  an 
equally  brilliant  effect  is  obtained. 

Spectrum  analysis,  as  generally  understood,  occu- 
pies itself  with  atomic  or  molecular  action,  but  physi- 
cal spectrum  analysis  may  obvio'isly  be  brought  to 
bear  upon  our  falling  showers.  A  composite  shower 
— that  is  to  say,  one  produced  by  the  mingled  spray 
of  two  or  more  liquids — could,  it  seems  plain,  be 
analysed  and  made  to  declare  its  constituents  by  the 
production  of  the  circular  rainbows  proper  to  the  re- 
spective liquids.  This  was  found  to  be  the  case.  In 
the  ordinary  rainbow  the  narrowest  colour-band  is  pro- 
duced by  its  most  refrangible  light.  In  general  terms, 
the  greater  the  refraction,  the  smaller  is  the  bow. 
Now,  as  spirit  of  turpentine  and  paraffin  are  both 
more  refractive  than  water,  it  might  be  concluded  that 

1  Rose-aniline,  dissolved  in  alcohol,  produces  a  splendid  bow 
with  specially  broad  supernumeraries. 
15 


220  THE  KAIKBOW 

in  a  mixed  shower  of  water  and  paraffin,  or  water 
turpentine,  the  smaller  and  more  luminous  circle  of 
the  latter  would  be  seen  within  the  larger  circle  of 
the  former.  The  result  was  exactly  in  accordance 
with  this  anticipation.  Beginning  with  water  and 
producing  its  two  bows,  then  allowing  the  turpentine 
to  shower  down  and  mingle  with  the  water — within 
the  large  and  beautifully-coloured  water-wheel  the 
more  richly-coloured  circle  of  the  turpentine  makes  its 
appearance.  Or  beginning  with  turpentine  and  form- 
ing its  concentrated  iris ;  on  turning  on  the  water- 
spray,  though  to  the  eye  the  shower  seems  absolutely 
homogeneous,  its  true  character  is  instantly  declared  by 
the  flashing  out  of  the  larger  concentric  aqueous  bow. 
The  water  primary  is  accompanied  by  its  secondary 
close  at  hand.  Associated,  moreover,  with  all  the  bows, 
primary  and  secondary,  are  the  supernumeraries  which 
belong  to  them ;  and  a  more  superb  experimental  illus- 
tration of  optical  principles  it  would  be  hardly  possible 
to  witness.  It  is  not  the  less  impressive  because  ex- 
tracted from  the  simple  combination  of  a  beam  of  light 
and  a  shower  of  rain. 

In  the  ' Philosophical  Transactions'  for  1835  the 
late  Colonel  Sykes  gave  a  vivid  description  of  a  circular 
solar  rainbow,  observed  by  him  in  India  during  periods 
when  fogs  and  mists  were  prevalent  in  the  chasms  of 
the  Ghats  of  the  Deccan. 

'It  was  during  such  periods  that  I  had  several 
opportunities  of  witnessing  that  singular  phenomenon, 
the  circular  rainbow,  which,  from  its  rareness,  is  spoken 
of  as  a  possible  occurrence  only.  The  stratum  of  fog 
from  the  Konkun  on  some  occasions  rose  somewhat 
above  the  level  of  the  top  of  a  precipice  forming  the 
north-west  scarp  of  the  hill-fort  of  H urreechundurghur, 
from  2,000  to  3,000  feet  perpendicular,  without  coming 


AND  ITS  CONGENERS.  221 

over  upon  the  table-land.  I  was  placed  at  the  edge  of 
the  precipice,  just  without  the  limits  of  the  fog,  and 
with  a  cloudless  sun  at  my  back  at  a  very  low  eleva- 
tion. Under  such  a  combination  of  favourable  circum- 
stances the  circular  rainbow  appeared  quite  perfect, 
of  the  most  vivid  colours,  one-half  above  the  level  on 
which  I  stood,  the  other  half  below  it.  Shadows  in 
distinct  outline  of  myself,  my  horse,  and  people  ap  • 
peared  in  the  centre  of  the  circle  as  a  picture,  to  which 
the  bow  formed  a  resplendent  frame.  My  attendants 
were  incredulous  that  the  figures  they  saw  under  such  ex- 
traordinary circumstances  could  be  their  own  shadows, 
and  they  tossed  their  arms  and  legs  about,  and  put 
their  bodies  into  various  postures,  to  be  assured  of  the 
fact  by  the  corresponding  movements  of  the  objects 
within  the  circle ;  and  it  was  some  little  time  ere  the 
superstitious  feeling  with  which  the  spectacle  was 
viewed  wore  off.  From  our  proximity  to  the  fog,  1 
believe  the  diameter  of  the  circle  at  no  time  exceeded 
fifty  or  sixty  feet.  The  brilliant  circle  was  accompanied 
by  the  usual  outer  bow  in  fainter  colours.' 

Mr.  E.  Colbourne  Baber,  an  accomplished  and  in- 
trepid traveller,  has  recently  enriched  the  'Transac- 
tions' of  the  Royal  Geographical  Society  by  a  paper  of 
rare  merit,  in  which  his  travels  in  Western  China  are 
described.  He  made  there  the  ascent  of  Mount  0 — 
an  eminence  of  great  celebrity.  Its  height  is  about 
11,000  feet  above  the  sea,  and  it  is  flanked  on  one  side 
by  a  cliff  '  a  good  deal  more  than  a  mile  in  height.' 
From  the  edge  of  this  cliff,  which  is  guarded  by  posts 
and  chains,  you  look  into  an  abyss,  and  if  fortune,  or 
rather  the  mists,  favour  you,  you  see  there  a  miracle, 
which  is  thus  described  by  Mr.  Baber: — 

4  Naturally  enough  it  is  with  some  trepidation  that 
pilgrims  approach  this  fearsome  brink,  but  they  are 


222  THE  RAINBOW 

drawn  to  it  by  the  hope  of  beholding  the  mysterious 
apparition  known  as  the  "  Fo-Kuang,"  or  "  Glory  of 
Buddha,"  which  floats  in  mid-air  half-way  down.  So 
many  eye-witnesses  had  told  me  of  this  wonder  that  I 
could  not  doubt ;  but  I  gazed  long  and  steadfastly  into 
the  gulf  without  success,  and  came  away  disappointed, 
but  not  incredulous.  It  was  described  to  me  as  a  circle 
of  brilliant  and  many-coloured  radiance,  broken  on  the 
outside  with  quick  flashes,  and  surrounding  a  central 
disc  as  bright  as  the  sun,  but  more  beautiful.  Devout 
Buddhists  assart  that  it  is  an  emanation  from  the 
aureole  of  Buddha,  and  a  visible  sign  of  the  holiness  of 
Mount  0. 

*  Impossible  as  it  may  be  deemed,  the  phenomenon 
does  really  exist.  I  suppose  no  better  evidence  could 
be  desired  for  the  attestation  of  a  Buddhist  miracle 
than  that  of  a  Baptist  missionary,  unless  indeed  it  be, 
as  in  this  case,  that  of  two  Baptist  missionaries.  Two 
gentlemen  of  that  persuasion  have  ascended  the  moun- 
tain since  my  visit,  and  have  seen  the  Glory  of  Buddha 
several  times.  They  relate  that  it  resembles  a  golden 
sun-like  disc,  enclosed  in  a  ring  of  prismatic  colours 
more  closely  blended  than  in  the  rainbow.  .  .  .  The 
missionaries  inform  me  that  it  was  about  three  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon,  near  the  middle  of  August,  when  they 
saw  the  meteor,  and  that  it  was  only  visible  when  the 
precipice  was  more  or  less  clothed  in  mist.  It  appeared 
to  lie  on  the  surface  of  the  mist,  and  was  always  in  the 
direction  of  a  line  drawn  from  the  sun  through  their 
heads,  as  is  certified  by  the  fact  that  the  shadow  of 
their  heads  was  seen  on  the  meteor.  They  could  get 
their  heads  out  of  the  way,  so  to  speak,  by  stooping 
down,  but  are  not  sure  if  they  could  do  so  by  stepping 
aside.  Each  spectator,  however,  could  see  the  shadows 
of  the  bystanders  as  well  as  his  own  projected  on  to  the 


AND  ITS  CONGENERS.  223 

appearance.  They  did  not  observe  any  rays  spreading 
from  it.  The  central  disc  they  think  is  a  reflected 
image  of  the  sun,  and  the  enclosing  ring  is  a  rainbow. 
The  ring  was  in  thickness  about  one-fourth  of  the  dia- 
meter of  the  disc,  and  distant  from  it  by  about  the 
8  ime  extent ;  but  the  recollection  of  one  informant  was 
that  the  ring  touched  the  disc,  without  any  intervening 
space.  The  shadow  of  a  head,  when  thrown  upon  it, 
covered  about  one-eighth  of  the  whole  diameter  of  the 
meteor.  The  rainbow  ring  was  not  quite  complete  in 
its  lower  part,  but  they  attribute  this  to  the  interposi- 
tion of  the  edge  of  the  precipice.  They  see  no  reason 
why  the  appearance  should  not  be  visible  at  night  when 
the  moon  is  brilliant  and  appositely  placed.  They 
profess  themselves  to  have  been  a  good  deal  surprised, 
but  not  startled,  by  the  spectacle.  They  would  con- 
sider it  remarkable  rather  than  astonishing,  and  are 
disposed  to  call  it  a  very  impressive  phenomenon.' 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that  Mr.  Baber  failed  to  see 
the  '  Glory,'  and  that  we  in  consequence  miss  his  own 
description  of  it.  There  seems  a  slight  inadvertence 
in  the  statement  that  the  head  could  be  got  out  of  the 
way  by  stooping.  The  shadow  of  the  head  must  have 
alwaj  s  occupied  the  centre  of  the  '  Glory.' 

Thus,  starting  from  the  first  faint  circle  seen  in  the 
thick  darkness  at  Alp  Lusgen,  we  have  steadily  followed 
and  developed  our  phenomenon,  and  ended  by  rendering 
the  *  Glory  of  Buddha  '  a  captive  of  the  laboratory.  The 
result  might  be  taken  as  typical  of  larger  things. 

[On  Sept.  25,  1890,  my  friend  M.  Sarasin  and  my- 
pelf  witnessed  at  Alp  Lusgen  a  very  perfect  example 
of  the  white  bow.  See  page  329/J 


224  ADDRESS  DELIVERED  AT 


ADDRESS  DELIVERED  AT  THE  SIItKBECK 
INSTITUTION  ON  OCTOBER  22,  1884. 

OUE  lives  are  interwoven  here  below,  frequently— 
indeed  most  frequently — without  our  knowing  it. 
We  are  in  great  part  moulded  by  unconscious  inter- 
action. Thus,  without  intending  it,  the  present  repre- 
sentative of  the  Birkbeck  family  in  Yorkshire  has  helped 
to  shape  my  life.  In  1856,  or  thereabouts,  Mr.  John 
Birkbeck  aided  in  founding  on  the  slope  of  a  Swiss 
mountain  the  /Eggischhorn  Hotel.  The  success  of  this 
experiment  provoked  in  the  neighbouring  commune  a 
spirit  of  rivalry  and  imitation,  and  accordingly,  upon  a 
bold  bluff  overlooking  the  great  Aletsch  glacier,  was 
subsequently  planted  the  Bel  Alp  Hotel.  To  the  Bel 
Alp  I  went  in  my  wanderings.  Seeing  it  often  I  liked 
it  well,  until  at  length  the  thought  dawned  upon  me  of 
building  a  permanent  nest  there.  Before  doing  so,  how- 
ever, I  imitated  the  birds — chose,  and  was  chosen  by, 
a  mate  who,  like  myself,  loved  the  freedom  of  the 
mountains,  and  we  built  our  nest  together. 

From  that  nest  I  have  come  straight  to  the  Birkbeck 
Institution,  so  that  the  following  chain  of  connection 
stretches  between  Mr.  John  Birkbeck  and  me.  With- 
out him  there  would  have  been  no  ^ggischhorn ;  with- 
out the  /Eggischhorn  there  would  have  been  no  Bel 
Alp ;  without  Bel  Alp  there  would  have  been  no  Tyndall's 
nest,  and  without  that  nest  the  person  who  now 
addresses  you  would  undoubtedly  be  a  different  man 
from  what  he  is.  His  bone  would  have  been  different 


THE  BIRKBECK   INSTITUTION.  225 

bone ;  his  flesh  different  flesh ;  nay,  the  very  grey  matter 
of  his  brain,  which  is  said  to  be  concerned  in  the  pro- 
duction of  thought,  would  have  been  different  from  what 
it  now  is.  The  inference  is  obvious  that,  should  this 
lecture  prove  a  failure  and  a  bore,  or  should  any  hitch 
occur  to  cause  me  to  break  down  in  the  middle  of  it, 
you  are  bound  in  common  fairness  to  lay  upon  the 
shoulders  of  Mr.  John  Birkbeck,  who  has  tampered 
so  seriously  with  my  bodily  and  mental  constituents,  a 
good  round  share  of  the  blame. 

Thus  I  seek  to  shirk  responsibility  in  regard  to  this 
lecture  ;  and  I  dare  say  you  would  forgive  me  if  I  went  a 
little  further  in  this  somewhat  ignoble  line.  It  is  the 
fashion  of  the  hour.  Some  of  England's  most  con- 
spicuous sons  at  the  present  day  would  seem  to  trace 
their  moral  pedigree  to  that  mean  old  gardener  who 
threw  upon  his  wife  the  whole  blame  of  eating  the  for- 
bidden fruit.  In  reference  to  the  present  occasion,  I 
wrote  to  Mr.  Norris  from  the  Alps,  asking  him  to  choose 
between  a  purely  scientific  lecture  and  an  address  based 
on  the  experiences  of  my  own  life.  He  chose  the  latter. 
I  do  not,  however,  ask  you  to  blame  Mr.  Norris,  but  to 
blame  me  if  a  chapter  from  the  personal  history  of  a 
worker,  instead  of  proving  a  stimulus  and  an  aid,  should 
seem  to  you  flat,  stale, -and  unprofitable. 

Every  operation  of  husbandry,  every  stroke  of  states- 
manship, every  movement  of  philanthropy,  to  be  effec- 
tual and  successful,  must  be  executed  at  the  proper 
time.  If  we  sow  in  the  autumn  what  ought  to  be  sown 
in  the  spring,  or  if  we  sow  in  the  spring  what  ought  to 
be  sown  in  the  autumn,  we  can  only  reap  disappoint- 
ment. Every  public  movement  is  tested  by  the  ques- 
tion, '  Does  it  live  ? '  and  this  may  be  translated  into  the 
question, « Does  it  grow?  '  For  growth  and  multiplication 
constitute  the  evidence  of  life.  Brought  to  this  test 


226  ADDRESS  DELIVERED  AT 

the  movement  inaugurated  by  Dr.  George  Birkbeck 
returned  a  full  and  conclusive  answer.  It  responded,  at 
the  proper  time,  to  a  national  need  and  to  a  need  of 
human  nature.  Not  only  in  the  various  districts  of 
London,  but  also  in  various  towns  throughout  the 
country,  and  even  beyond  the  bounds  of  England,  in- 
stitutions sprang  up,  founded  on  the  model  of  the 
London  Mechanics'  Institution,  which  afterwards  be- 
came the  famous  Birkbeck  Institution,  the  anniversary 
of  which  we  celebrate  to-day. 

Speaking  of  the  opportune  beneficence  of  Dr.  Birk- 
beck's  movement  reminds  me  that  in  the  days  of 
my  youth,  personally  and  directly,  I  derived  profit  from 
that  movement.  In  1 842,  and  thereabouts,  it  was  my 
privilege  to  be  a  member  of  the  Preston  Mechanics' 
Institution — to  attend  its  lectures  and  make  use  of 
its  library.  A  learned  and  accomplished  clergyman, 
named,  if  I  remember  aright,  John  Clay,  chaplain  of 
the  House  of  Correction,  lectured  from  time  to  time 
on  mechanics.  A  fine  earnest  old  man,  named,  I  think, 
Moses  Holden,  lectured  on  astronomy,  while  other 
lecturers  took  up  the  subjects  of  general  physics, 
chemistry,  botany,  and  physiology.  My  recollection  of 
it  is  dim,  but  the  instruction  then  received  entered, 
I  doubt  not,  into  the  texture  of  my  mind,  and  influenced 
me  in  after-life.  One  experiment  made  in  these  lec- 
tures I  have  never  forgotten.  Surgeon  Corless,  I  think 
it  was,  who  lectured  on  respiration,  explaining  among 
other  things  the  changes  produced  by  the  passage  of 
air  through  the  lungs.  What  went  in  as  free  oxygen 
came  out  bound  up  in  carbonic  acid.  To  prove  this  he 
took  a  flask  of  lime-water  and,  by  means  of  a  glass 
tube  dipped  into  it,  forced  his  breath  through  the 
water.  The  carbonic  acid  from  the  lungs  seized  upon 
the  dissolved  liine,  converting  it  into  carbonate  of  lime, 


THE  BIRKBECK  INSTITUTION.  227 

which,  being  practically  insoluble,  was  precipitated. 
All  this  was  predicted  beforehand  by  the  lecturer ;  but 
the  delight  with  which  I  saw  his  prediction  fulfilled,  by 
the  conversion  of  the  limpid  lime-water  into  a  turbid 
mixture  of  chalk  and  water,  remains  with  me  as  a 
memory  to  the  present  hour.  The  students  ot  the 
Birkbeck  Institution  may  therefore  grant  me  the 
honour  of  ranking  myself  among  them  as  a  fellow- 
btuilent  of  a  former  generation. 

At  the  invitation  of  an  officer  of  the  Royal  Engi- 
neers, who  afterwards  became  one  of  my  most  esteemed 
and  intimate  friends,  I  quitted  school  in  1839,  to  join 
a  division  of  the  Ordnance  Survey.  The  profession  of 
a  civil  engineer  having  then  great  attractions  for  me, 
I  joined  the  Survey,  intending,  if  pos.-ible,  to  make 
myself  master  of  all  its  operations  as  a  first  step  to- 
wards becoming  a  civil  engineer.  Draughtsmen  were 
the  best  paid,  and  I  became  a  draughtsman.  But  I 
habitually  made  incursions  into  the  domains  of  the  cal- 
culator and  computer,  and  thus  learned  all  their  art. 
In  due  time  the  desire  to  make  myself  master  of  field 
operations  caused  rne  to  apply  for  permission  to  go  to 
the  field.  The  permission  was  granted  by  my  excellent 
friend  General  George  Wynne,1  who  then,  as  Lieutenant 
Wynne,  observed  and  did  all  he  could  to  promote  my 
desire  for  improvement.  Before  returning  to  the  office 
I  had  mastered  all  the  mysteries  of  ordinary  field  work. 
But  there  remained  a  special  kind  of  field  work  which 
had  not  been  mastered — the  taking  of  trigonometrical 
observations.  By  good  fortune  some  work  of  this  kind 
was  required  at  a  time  when  all  the  duly-recognised 
observers  were  absent.  Under  the  tutelage  of  a  clever 
master,  named  Conwill,  I  had  acquired,  before  quitting 

1  Died  at  Cologne  on  June  27,  1890 ;  and  was  buried  there  with 
military  honours  on  June  30. 


228  ADDRESS  DELIVERED  AT 

school,  a  sound  knowledge  of  elementary  geometry  and 
trigonometry.  Relying  on  this  to  carry  me  through,  I 
volunteered  to  make  the  required  ohservations.  After 
pome  hesitation,  and  a  little  chaff,  a  theodolite  was  con- 
fided to  me. 

The  instrument,  you  know,  embraces  an  accurately- 
graduated  horizontal  circle  for  the  measurement  of 
horizontal  angles,  and  a  similarly  graduated  vertical 
circle  for  the  taking  of  vertical  angles.  It  is  moreover 
furnished  with  a  formidable  array  of  clamp-screws, 
tangent-screws  and  verniers,  sufficient  to  tax  a  novice 
to  unravel  them.  My  first  care  before  applying  the 
instrument  was  to  understand  its  construction.  Thia 
accomplished,  I  took  the  field  with  two  assistants, 
who  had  to  measure  uphill  and  downhill  along  the 
sides  of  large  triangles  into  which  the  whole  country 
had  been  previously  divided.  At  the  same  time 
angles  of  elevation  had  to  be  taken  uphill  and  angles 
of  depression  downhill,  and  from  these  the  true  hori- 
zontal distance  had  to  be  calculated.  The  heights 
above  the  sea-level  of  the  corners  of  the  large  triangles 
had  been  previously  fixed  with  the  utmost  accuracy  by 
a  very  powerful  theodolite,  and  the  measurements  with 
my  smaller  instrument  had  to  come  pretty  close  to  the 
accurate  determiuation  to  save  my  work  from  rejection. 
Happily  I  succeeded,  though  there  had  been  bets  against 
me.  The  pay  upon  the  Ordnance  Survey  was  very 
small,  but  having  ulterior  objects  in  view,  I  considered 
the  instruction  received  as  some  set-off  to  the  smallness 
of  the  pay.  It  may  prevent  some  of  you  young  Birk- 
beckians  from  considering  your  fate  specially  hard,  or 
from  being  daunted  because  from  a  very  low  level  you 
have  to  climb  a  very  steep  hill,  when  I  tell  you  that 
on  quitting  the  Ordnance  Survey  in  1843,  my  salary 
was  a  little  under  twenty  shillings  a  week.  I  have 


THE  BIRKBECK   INSTITUTION.  229 

often  wondered  since  at  the  amount  of  genuine  happi- 
ness which  a  young  fellow  of  regular  habits,  not  caring 
for  either  pipe  or  mug,  may  extract  even  from  pay  like 
this. 

Then  came  a  pause,  and  after  it  the  mad  time  of 
the  railway  mania,  when  I  was  able  to  turn  to  some 
account  the  knowledge  gained  upon  the  Ordnance 
Survey.  In  Staffordshire,  Cheshire,  Lancashire,  Dur- 
ham, and  Yorkshire,  more  especially  the  last,  I  was  in 
the  thick  of  the  fray.  It  was  a  time  of  terrible  toil. 
The  day's  work  in  the  field  usually  began  and  ended 
with  the  day's  light,  while  frequently  in  the  office,  and 
more  especially  as  the  awful  30th  of  November  drew 
near,  there  was  little  ditference  between  day  and  night, 
every  hour  of  the  twenty-four  being  absorbed  in  the 
work  of  preparation.  The  30th  of  November  was  the 
latest  date  at  which  plans  and  sections  of  projected 
lines  could  be  deposited  at  the  Board  of  Trade,  failure 
in  this  particular  often  involving  the  loss  of  thousands 
of  pounds.  One  of  my  last  pieces  of  field  work  in 
those  days  was  the  taking  of  a  line  of  levels  from  the 
town  of  Keighley  to  the  village  of  Haworth  in  York- 
shire. On  a  certain  day,  under  grave  penalties,  these 
levels  had  to  be  finished,  and  this  particular  day  was 
one  of  agony  to  me.  The  atmosphere  seemed  filled 
with  mocking  demons,  laughing  at- the  vanity  of  my 
efforts  to  get  the  work  done.  My  levelling-staves  were 
snapped  and  my  theodolite  was  overthrown  by  the 
storm.  When  things  are  at  their  worst  a  kind  of 
anger  often  takes  the  place  of  fear.  It  was  so  in  the 
present  instance;  I  pushed  doggedly  on,  and  just  at 
nightfall,  when  barely  able  to  read  the  figures  on  my 
levelling-staff,  I  planted  my  last  *  bench-mark'  on  a 
tombstone  in  Haworth  Churchyard.  Close  at  hand 
was  the  vicarage  of  Mr.  Bronte,  where  the  genius  waa 


230  ADDRESS  DELIVERED  AT 

nursed  which  soon  afterwards  burst  forth  and  astonished 
the  world. 

Among  the  legal  giants  of  those  days  Austin  and 
Talbot  stood  supreme.  There  was  something  grand  as 
well  as  merciless  in  the  power  wielded  by  those  men  in 
entangling  and  ruining  a  hostile  witness;  and  yet  it 
often  seemed  to  me  that  a  clear-headed  fellow,  who  had 
the  coolness,  honesty,  and  courage  not  to  go  beyond 
his  knowledge,  might  have  foiled  both  of  them.  Then 
we  had  the  giants  of  the  civil  engineers — Stephenson, 
Brunei,  Locke,  Hawkshaw,  and  others.  Judged  by  his 
power  of  fence,  his  promptness  in  calculation,  and  his 
general  readiness  of  retort,  George  Bidder  as  a  wit- 
ness was  unrivalled.  I  have  seen  him  take  the  breath 
out  of  Talbot  himself  before  a  committee  of  the  House 
of  Lords.  Strong  men  were  broken  down  by  the  strain 
and  labour  of  that  arduous  time.  Many  pushed  through, 
and  are  still  amongst  us  in  robust  vigour.  But  some 
collapsed,  while  others  retired,  with  large  fortunes  it  is 
true,  but  with  intellects  so  shattered  that,  instead  of 
taking  their  places  in  the  front  rank  of  English  states- 
men, as  their  abilities  entitled  them  to  do,  they  sought 
rest  for  their  brains  in  the  quiet  lives  of  country  gentle- 
men. In  my  own  modest  sphere,  I  well  remember  the 
refreshment  occasionally  derived  from  five  minutes' 
sleep  on  a  deal  table,  with  Babbage  and  Callet's  Loga- 
rithms under  my  head  for  a  pillow. 

It  was  a  time  of  mad  unrest — of  downright  mono- 
mania. In  private  residences  and  public  halls,  in 
London  reception-rooms,  in  hotels  and  in  the  stables  of 
hotels,  among  gipsies  and  costermongers,  nothing  was 
spoken  of  but  the  state  of  the  share  market,  the  pro- 
spects of  projected  lines,  the  good  fortune  of  the  ostler 
or  pot-boy  who,  by  a  lucky  stroke  of  business,  had 
cleared  ten  thousand  pounds.  High  and  low,  rich  and 


THE  BIRKBECK  INSTITUTION.  231 

poor,  joined  in  the  reckless  game.  During  my  profes- 
sional connection  with  railways  I  endured  three  weeks' 
misery.  It  was  not  defeated  ambition ;  it  was  not  a 
rejected  love-suit ;  it  was  not  the  hardship  endured  in 
either  office  or  field,  but  it  was  the  possession  of  certain 
shares  which  I  had  purchased  in  one  of  the  lines  then 
afloat.  The  share  list  of  the  day  proved  the  winding- 
sheet  of  my  peace  of  mind.  I  was  haunted  by  the 
Stock  Exchange.  Then,  as  now,  I  loved  the  blue  span 
of  heaven ;  but  when  I  found  myself  regarding  it 
morning  after  morning,  not  with  the  fresh  joy  which, 
in  my  days  of  innocence,  it  had  brought  me,  but  solely 
with  reference  to  its  possible  effect,  through  the  harvest, 
upon  the  share  market,  I  became  at  length  so  savage 
with  myself,  that  nothing  remained  but  to  go  down  to 
my  brokers  and  put  away  the  shares  as  an  accursed 
thing.  Thus  began  and  thus  ended,  without  either 
gain  or  loss,  my  railway  gambling. 

During  this  arduous  period  of  my  life  my  old  ten- 
dencies, chief  among  which  was  the  desire  to  grow 
intellectually,  did  not  forsake  me ;  and,  when  railway 
work  slackened,  I  accepted  in  1817  a  post  as  master 
in  Queenwood  College,  Hampshire — an  establishment 
which  is  still  conducted  with  success  by  a  worthy 
Principal.  There  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Dr. 
Frankland,  who  had  charge  of  the  chemical  laboratory. 
Queenwood  College  had  been  the  Harmony  Hall  of  the 
Socialists,  which,  under  the  auspices  of  the  philan- 
thropist, Kobert  Owen,  was  built  to  inaugurate  the 
Millennium.  The  letters  'C  of  M,'  Commencement  of 
Millennium,  were  actually  inserted  in  flint  in  the 
brickwork  of  the  house.  Schemes  like  Harmony  Hall 
look  admirable  upon  paper  ;  but  inasmuch  as  they  are 
formed  with  reference  to  an  ideal  humanity,  they  go  to 
pieces  when  brought  into  collision  with  the  real  one. 


232  ADDRESS  DELIVERED  AT 

At  Queenwo,od  I  learned,  by  practical  experience,  that 
two  factors  go  to  the  formation  of  a  teacher.  In 
regard  to  knowledge  he  must,  of  course,  be  master  of 
his  work.  But  knowledge  is  not  all.  There  may  be 
knowledge  without  power — the  ability  to  inform  with- 
out the  ability  to  stimulate.  Both  go  together  in  the 
true  teacher.  A  power  of  character  must  underlie  and 
enforce  the  work  of  the  intellect.  There  are  men  who 
can  so  rouse  and  energise  their  pupils — so  call  forth 
their  strength  and  the  pleasure  of  its  exercise — as  to 
make  the  hardest  work  agreeable.  Without  this  power 
it  is  questionable  whether  the  teacher  can  ever  really 
enjoy  his  vocation — with  it  I  do  not  know  a  higher, 
nobler,  more  blessed  calling,  than  that  of  the  man  who, 
scorning  the  e  cramming '  so  prevalent  in  our  day,  con- 
verts the  knowledge  he  imparts  into  a  lever,  to  lift, 
exercise,  and  strengthen  the  growing  minds  committed 
to  his  care. 

At  the  time  here  referred  to  I  had  emerged  from 
some  years  of  hard  labour  the  fortunate  possessor  of 
two  or  three  hundred  pounds.  By  selling  my  services 
in  the  dearest  market  during  the  railway  madness  the 
sum  might,  without  dishonour,  have  been  made  a  large 
one;  but  I  respected  ties  which  existed  prior  to  the 
time  when  offers  became  lavish  and  temptation  strong. 
I  did  not  put  my  money  in  a  napkin,  but  cherished  the 
design  of  spending  it  in  study  at  a  German  university. 
I  had  heard  of  German  science,  while  Caiiyle's  references 
to  German  philosophy  and  literature  caused  me  to  re- 
gard them  as  a  kind  of  revelation  from  the  gods. 
Accordingly,  in  the  autumn  of  1848,  Frankland  and  I 
started  for  the  land  of  universities,  as  Germany  is  often 
called.  They  are  sown  broadcast  over  the  country,  and 
can  justly  claim  to  be  the  source  of  an  important  portion 
of  Germany's  present  greatness.  A  portion,  but  not  all. 


THE  BIRKBECK  INSTITUTION.  233 

The  thews  and  sinews  of  German  men  were  not  given 
by  German  universities.  The  steady  fortitude  and 
valiant  laboriousness  whjch  have  fought  against,  and 
triumphed  over,  the  gravest  natural  disadvantages  are 
not  the  result  of  university  culture.  But  the  strength 
and  endurance  which  belong  to  the  German,  as  a  gift 
of  race,  needed  enlightenment  to  direct  it;  and  this 
was  given  by  the  universities.  Into  these  establish- 
ments was  poured  that  sturdy  power  which  in  other 
fields  had  made  the  wastes  of  Nature  fruitful,  and  the 
strong  and  earnest  character  had  thus  superposed  upon 
it  the  informed  and  disciplined  mind.  It  is  the  coales- 
cence of  these  two  factors  that  has  made  Germany 
great ;  it  is  the  combination  of  these  elements  which 
must  prevent  England  from  becoming  small.  We  may 
bless  God  for  our  able  journalists,  our  orderly  Parlia- 
ment, and  our  free  press;  but  we  should  bless  Him 
still  more  for  '  the  hardy  English  root '  from  which  these 
good  things  have  sprung.  \Ve  need  muscle  as  well  as 
brains,  character  and  resolution  as  well  as  expertness  of 
intellect.  Lacking  the  former,  though  possessing  the 
latter,  we  have  the  bright  foam  of  the  wave  without  its 
rock-shaking  momentum. 

Our  place  of  study  was  the  town  of  Marburg  in 
Hesse  Cassel,  and  a  very  picturesque  town  Marburg  is. 
It  clambers  pleasantly  up  the  hillsides,  and  falls  as 
pleasantly  towards  the  Lahn.  On  a  May  day,  when 
the  orchards  are  in  blossom,  and  the  chestnuts  clothed 
with  their  heavy  foliage,  Marburg  is  truly  lovely.  It 
has,  moreover,  a  history.  It  was  here  that  Saint  Eliza- 
beth shed  her  holy  influence  and  dispensed  her  mercies'. 
The  noble  double-spired  church  which  bears  her  name, 
and  contains  her  dust,  stands  here  to  commemorate  her. 
On  a  high  hilltop  which  dominates  the  town  rises  the 
fine  old  castle  where,  in  the  Kittersaal,  Luther  and 


234  ADDRESS  DELIVERED  AT 

Zwingli  held  their  famous  conference  on  Consubstantia- 
tion  and  Transubstantiatiou.  Here  for  a  time  lived 
William  Tyndale,  translator  of  the  Bible  into  English, 
who  was  afterwards  strangled  and  burnt  in  Vilvorden. 
Here  Wolff  expounded  his  philosophy,  and  here  Denis 
Papin  invented  his  digester,  and  is  said  to  have  in- 
vented a  working  steam-engine.  The  principal  figure  in 
the  university  at  the  time  of  our  visit  was  Bunsen,  who 
had  made  his  name  illustrious  by  chemical  researches 
of  unparalleled  difficulty  and  importance,  and  by  his 
successful  application  of  chemical  and  physical  principles 
to  explain  the  volcanic  phenomena  of  Iceland.  It  was 
be  who  first  laid  bare  the  secret  of  the  geysers  of 
Iceland  and  gave  the  true  theory  of  their  action.  A 
very  worthy  old  professor  named  Gerling  kept  the 
Observatory  and  lectured  on  physics.  Professor  Steg- 
mann,  an  excellent  teacher,  lectured  on  mathematics, 
Ludwig  and  Fick  were  at  the  Anatomical  Institute, 
Waitz  lectured  on  philosophy  and  anthropology,  Hessel 
expounded  crystallography,  while  my  accomplished 
friend  Knoblauch  arrived  subsequently  from  Berlin. 
The  university  at  the  time  numbered  about  three 
hundred  students,  and  it  suited  my  mood  and  means 
far  better  than  one  of  the  larger  universities. 

In  the  excellent  biography  of  Dr.  Birkbeck  recently 
published  by  Dr.  Godard,  which  to  the  writer  of  it  was 
evidently  a  labour  of  love,  the  name  of  Birkbeck  is  re- 
ferred to  the  little  river  of  that  name  which  rises  in 
the  'Birkbeck  fells'  in  Westmoreland.  'Beck'  is 
stream  in  the  North,  and  '  Birk '  is  birch,  so  that 
'  Birkbeck  '  means  Birchstream.  Turned  into  German 
there  would  be  very  little  change.  For  here  also  Birch 
is  Birk,  while  Beck  is  Bach.  In  Marburg  I  lived  on 
the  Ketzerbach,  a  street  through  the  middle  of  which 
ran  an  open  brook  fringed  with  acacias.  Before  the 


THE  BFRKBECK  INSTITUTION.  235 

Reformation  had  gathered  sufficient  strength  to  put  a 
stop  to  such  things,  a  number  of  honest  people,  differ- 
ing in  belief  from  a  number  of  equally  honest  people 
who  possessed  the  will  and  power  to  murder  them,  were 
here  burnt  to  death,  their  calcined  bones  being  thrown 
into  the  brook.  Hence  the  name  Ketzerbach — Here- 
tics' Brook — which  survives  to  this  hour.  My  lodging 
was  a  very  homely  one — two  rooms  at  the  top  of  the 
house,  one  a  study,  the  other  a  bedroom.  I  was  imme- 
diately visited  by  a  personage  who  offered  his  services 
as  master  of  the  robes.  Bearing  as  he  did  a  good 
character,  he  was  at  once  engaged.  This  Stiefelwichser, 
or  boot-cleaner,  whose  name  was  Steinmetz,  carried 
with  him  besides  his  brushes  a  little  cane  about  two 
feet  long,  and  his  vocation  was  to  enter  the  rooms  of 
the  student  early  in  the  morning,  gather  up  his  clothes 
and  boots,  retire  to  the  landing,  whence  after  a  few 
minutes'  vigorous  beating  and  brushing,  he  returned 
with  everything  clean,  neat,  and  presentable  for  the 
day. 

My  study  was  warmed  by  a  large  stove.  At  first  I 
missed  the  gleam  and  sparkle  from  flame  and  ember, 
but  soon  became  accustomed  to  the  obscure  heat.  At 
six  in  the  morning  a  small  milchbrod  and  a  cup  of  tea 
were  brought  to  me.  The  dinner-hour  was  one,  and  for 
the  first  year  or  so  I  dined  at  a  hotel.  In  those  days 
living  was  cheap  in  Marburg.  There  was  no  railway  to 
transport  local  produce  to  a  distance,  and  this  rendered 
it  cheap  at  home.  Our  dinner  consisted  of  several 
courses,  roast  and  boiled,  and  finished  up  with  sweets 
and  dessert.  The  cost  was  a  pound  a  month,  or  about 
eightpence  per  dinner.  You  must  not  suppose  that  I 
partook  of  all  the  courses.  I  usually  limited  myself 
to  one  of  them,  using  even  it  in  moderation,  being 
already  convinced  that  eating  too  much  was  quite  aa 
1C 


236  ADDRESS  DELIVEEED  AT 

sinful,  and  almost  as  ruinous,,  as  drinking  too  much. 
Watch  and  ward  were  therefore  kept  over  the  eating. 
By  attending  to  such  things  I  was  able  to  work,  with- 
out weariness,  for  sixteen  hours  a  day. 

With  my  Stiefelwichser  I  was  soon  at  war.  It  wag 
not  a  'declared  war.'  It  was  not  a  'war  of  reprisals.' 
It  was  not  even  a  struggle  for  supremacy,  but  a  modest 
contest  on  my  part  for  mere  equality.  Preferring 
working  in  the  early  morning  to  working  late  at 
night,  I  thought  five  o'clock  a  fair  hour  at  which  to 
begin  the  day.  But  my  Stiefelwichser  chose  to  come 
at  four.  For  a  time  I  allowed  him  so  to  come,  without 
changing  my  hour ;  but  shame  soon  began  to  take 
possession  of  me.  I  considered  his  case,  and  compared 
his  aims  and  inducements  with  my  own.  For  the  services 
he  rendered  me  I  allowed  him  the  usual  pay — a  few 
thalers  for  the  Semester,  or  term.  The  thaler  was 
three  shillings.  I  asked  myself  what  my  aims  and  as- 
pirations were  worth  if  they  were  unable  to  furnish  a 
motive  power  equal  to  that  which  this  poor  fellow  ex- 
tracted from  his  scanty  wage.  I  tried  to  take  refuge 
in  a  text  of  Scripture,  and  said  to  myself  soothingly, 
'  The  children  of  this  world  are  always  in  their  gene- 
ration wiser  than  the  children  of  light.'  It  was  very 
comforting  for  the  moment  to  think  of  poor  Steinmetz 
as  a  child  of  this  world,  and  of  his  employer  as  a  child 
of  light.  But  in  those  days  there  existed  under  the 
same  skin  two  John  Tyndalls,  one  of  whom  called  the 
other  a  humbug,  accompanying  this  descriptive  noun 
by  a  moral  kick  which,  in  the  matter  of  getting  up, 
effectually  converted  into  a  child  of  this  world  the 
child  of  light.  For  a  long  time  I  was  always  in  a  con- 
dition to  look  Steinmetz  in  the  face,  and  return  his 
'  Guten  Morgen  '  when  he  arrived.  We  afterwards  re- 
laxed, and  made  our  hour  of  meeting  five  ;  and  for  the 


THE  BIRKBECK  INSTITUTION.  237 

last  year  or  so,  having  climbed  my  roughest  eminences, 
and  not  feeling  a  continuance  of  the  strain  to  be 
necessary,  I  was  content  if  found  well  submerged  in  my 
tub  before  the  clock  of  St.  Elizabeth  had  finished  ring- 
ing out  six  in  the  morning. 

Early  risers  are  sometimes  described  as  insufferable 
people  They  are,  it  is  said,  self-righteous — filled  with 
the  pharisaical  '  Lord,  I  thank  thee  that  I  am  not  as 
other  men  are  I '  It  may  be  so,  but  we  have  now  to 
deal  not  with  generalisations  but  with  facts.  My 
going  to  G-ermany  had  been  opposed  by  some  of  my 
friends  as  quixotic,  and  my  life  there  might  perhaps 
be  not  unfairly  thus  described.  I  did  not  work 
for  money ;  I  was  not  even  spurred  by  *  the  last 
infirmity  of  noble  minds.'  I  had  been  reading  Fichte, 
and  Emerson,  and  Carlyle,  and  had  been  infected  by 
the  spirit  of  these  great  men.  Let  no  one  persuade 
you  that  they  were  not  great  men.  The  Alpha  and 
Omega  of  their  teaching  was  loyalty  to  duty.  Higher 
knowledge  and  greater  strength  were  within  reach  of 
the  man  who  unflinchingly  enacted  his  best  insight. 
It  was  a  noble  doctrine,  though  it  may  sometimes  have 
inspired  exhausting  disciplines  and  unrealizable  hopes. 
At  all  events  it  held  me  to  my  work,  and  in  the  long 
cold  mornings  of  the  German  winter,  defended  by  a 
Schlafrock  lined  with  catskin,  P  usually  felt  a  fresh- 
ness and  strength — a  joy  in  mere  living  and  working, 
derived  from  perfect  health — which  was  something 
different  from  the  malady  of  self-righteousness. 

At  Marburg  I  attended  the  lectures  of  many  of  the 
eminent  men  above  mentioned,  concentrating  my  chief 
attention,  however,  on  mathematics,  physics,  and 
chemistry.  I  should  like  to  have  an  opportunity  of 
subjecting  these  lectures,  especially  those  of  Bunsen,  to 
a  riper  judgment  than  mine  was  at  thnt  time.  I 


238  ADDRESS  DELIVERED  AT 

learnt  German  by  listening  to  Bunsen,  and  as  my 
knowledge  of  the  language  increased  the  lectures  grew 
more  and  more  fascinating.  But  my  interest  was  alive 
from  the  first,  for  Bunsen  was  a  master  of  the  language 
of  experiment,  thus  reaching  the  mind  through  the 
eye  as  well  as  through  the  ear.  The  lectures  were 
full  of  matter.  Notes  of  them  are  still  in  my  possession 
which  prove  to  me  how  full  they  were,  ai,d  how  com- 
pletely they  were  kept  abreast  of  the  most  advanced 
knowledge  of  the  day.  This  is  a  use  and  a  sense  of  the 
word  ( advanced '  which  may  be  safely  commended  to 
your  sympathetic  attention.  In  many  directions  it  is 
easy  enough  to  become  advanced,  but  not  in  this  one. 
Bunsen  was  a  man  of  fine  presence,  tall,  handsome, 
courteous,  and  with  out  a  trace  of  affectation  or  pedantry. 
He  merged  himstrlf  in  his  subject :  his  exposition  was 
lucid,  and  his  language  pure  ;  he  spoke  with  the  clear 
Hanoverian  accent  which  is  so  pleasant  to  English  ears  ; 
he  was  every  inch  a  gentleman.  After  some  experience 
of  my  own,  I  still  look  back  on  Bunsen  as  the  nearest 
approach  to  my  ideal  of  a  university  teacher.  He 
sometimes  seemed  absent-minded,  and,  as  he  gazed 
through  the  window  at  the  massive  Elizabethen  Kirche, 
appeared  to  be  thinking  of  it  rather  than  of  his  lecture. 
But  there  was  no  interruption,  no  halting  or  stammer- 
ing to  indicate  that  he  had  been  for  a  single  moment 
forgetful.  He  lectured  every  day  in  winter,  and  twice 
a  day  in  summer,  beginning  his  course  on  organic 
chemistry  at  seven  in  the  morning.  After  the  lectures, 
laboratory  work  continued  till  noon.  During  this  time 
no  smoking  was  allowed  in  the  laboratory,  but  at  noon 
liberty  as  regards  the  pipe  began,  and  was  continued 
through  the  day.  Bunsen  himself  was  an  industrious 
smoker.  Cigars  of  a  special  kind  were  then  sold  in 
Marburg,  called  '  Bunsen'sche  Cigarren  ' ;  they  were 


THE  EIRKBECK  INSTITUTION.  239 

very  cheap  and  very  bad,  but  they  were  liked  by  my 
illustrious  friend,  and  were  doubtless  to  him  a  source  of 
comfort.  Dr.  Debus,  the  late  distinguished  professor  of 
chemistry  at  the  Koyal  Naval  College,  Greenwich,  was 
Bunsen's  laboratory  assistant  at  this  time,  and  to  him  I 
was  indebted  for  some  lessons  in  blowpipe  chemistry. 
Bunsen  afterwards  took  me  under  his  own  charge,  giving 
me  Icelandic  trachytes  to  analyse,  and  other  work. 
Besides  being  a  chemist,  he  was  a  profound  physicist. 
His  celebrated  *  Publicum  *  on  electro-chemistry,  to 
which  we  all  looked  forward  as  a  treat  of  the  highest 
kind,  was  physical  from  beginning  to  end.  He  was  the 
intimate  friend  of  W.  Weber  of  Gottingen,  and  was  well 
acquainted  with  the  labours  of  that  great  electrician. 
Breaking  ground  in  frictional  electricity,  he  passed  on 
to  the  phenomena  and  theory  of  the  Voltaic  pile.  He 
was  a  great  upholder  of  the  famous  Contact  Theory, 
\\  hich  had  many  supporters  in  Germany  at  the  time,  one 
of  the  foremost  of  these  being  the  genial-minded  Kohl- 
rausch.  This  theory,  as  you  are  well  aware,  has  under- 
gone profound  modifications.  There  are,  no  doubt, 
eminent  philosophers  amongst  us  who  would  pronounce 
the  theory,  in  its  first  form,  unthinkable,  inasmuch  as 
it  implied  the  creation  of  force  out  of  nothing.  But 
the  fact  that  some  of  the  most  celebrated  scientific 
men  in  the  world,  with  the  illustrious  Volta  himself  as 
their  leader,  accepted  and  saw  nothing  incongruous  in 
the  theory,  shows  how  '  unthinkability '  depends  upon 
the  state  of  our  knowledge.  The  laws  of  Ohm  were  ex- 
pounded with  great  completeness  by  Bunsen.  Various 
modes  of  electric  measurement  were  illustrated ;  the 
electric  light  from  the  carbon  battery,  invented  by 
himself,  was  iutroduced,  the  electric  telegraph  was  ex- 
plained, Steinheil's  researches  in  regard  to  the  '  earth 
circuit 'were  developed;  and  it  was  in  these  lectures 


240  ADDRESS  DELIVERED  AT 

that  I  first  beard  an  honouring  and  appreciative  refer- 
ence to  der  Englische  Bierbrauer,  Joule. 

Stegmann,  the  professor  of  mathematics,  was  also  a 
man  of  strong  individuality.  He  lectured  in  a  small 
room  on  the  Hat  which  he  occupied.  This  was  the 
usual  arrangement ;  each  professor  had  a  lecture-room 
on  his  own  floor,  and  the  students  in  passing  from  lec- 
ture to  lecture  had  sometimes  to  go  from  one  end  of 
•Marburg  to  the  other.  The  desks  were  of  the  most 
primitive  description,  and  into  them  the  inkhorns  were 
securely  fixed  by  means  of  spikes  at  the  bottom.  Be- 
sides attending  his  lectures  I  had  private  lessons  from 
Professor  Stegmann.  He  was  what  I  have  already  de- 
scribed him  to  be,  an  excellent  teacher.  He  lectured 
on  analysis,  on  analytical  geometry  of  two  and  three 
dimensions,  on  the  differential  and  integral  calculus, 
on  the  calculus  of  variations,  and  on  theoretical 
mechanics.  In  mathematics  he  appeared  to  be  entirely 
at  home.  I  have  sometimes  seen  him,  after  he  had 
almost  wholly  covered  his  blackboard  with  equations, 
suddenly  discover  that  he  had  somewhere  made  a  mis- 
take. When  this  occurred  he  would  look  perplexed, 
shuffle  his  chalk  vaguely  over  the  board,  move  his 
tongue  to  and  fro  between  his  lips,  until  he  had  hit 
upon  the  error.  His  face  would  then  flush,  and  he 
would  dash  forward  with  redoubled  speed  and  energy, 
clearing  up  every  difficulty  before  the  end  of  the  lec- 
ture. It  was  he  who  gave  me  the  subject  of  my  disser- 
tation when  I  took  my -degree.  Its  title  in  English 
was — *  On  a  Screw  Surface  with  Inclined  Generatrix,  and 
on  the  Conditions  of  Equilibrium  on  such  Surfaces.' 
One  evening,  after  he  had  given  me  this  subject,  I  met 
him  at  a  party  and  asked  him  a  question,  which  I  did 
not  dream  of  as  touching  the  solution  of  the  problem. 
But  he  smiled  and  said,  '  Yes,  Herr  Tyndall,  but  if 


THE  BIRKBECK  INSTITUTION.  241 

I  tell  you  that  I  must  tell  you  a  great  deal  more.'  I 
thought  he  meant  to  insinuate  that  I  wished  for  illegi- 
timate aid  in  the  working  out  of  my  theme.  I  shrank 
together,  and  resolved  that  if  I  could  not,  without  the 
slightest  aid,  accomplish  the  work  from  beginning  to 
end,  it  should  not  be  accomplished  at  all.  Wandering 
among  the  pinewoods,  and  pondering  the  subject,  I 
became  more  and  more  master  of  it ;  and  when  my  dis- 
sertation was  handed  in  to  the  Philosophical  Faculty, 
it  did  not  contain  a  thought  that  was  not  my  own. 

One  of  my  experiences  at  Marburg  may  be  Worth 
noting.  For  a  good  while  I  devoted  myself  wholly  to 
the  acquisition  of  knowledge;  heard  lectures  and 
worked  in  the  laboratory  abroad,  and  studied  hard  at 
home.  When  a  boy  at  school  I  had  read  an  article, 
probably  by  Addison,  on  the  importance  of  order  in  the 
distribution  of  our  time,  and  for  the  first  year  or  so  my 
time  was  ordered  very  stringently,  specified  hours  being 
devoted  to  special  subjects  of  study.  But  in  process  of 
time  I  began  the  attempt  of  adding  to  knowledge  as  well 
as  acquiring  it.  My  first  little  physical  investigation 
was  on  a  subject  of  extreme  simplicity,  but  by  no  means 
devoid  of  scientific  interest — '  Phenomena  of  a  Water- 
jet.'  Among  other  things,  I  noticed  that  the  musical 
sound  of  cascades  and  rippling  streams,  as  well  as  the 
sonorous  voice  of  the  ocean,  was  mainly  if  not  wholly 
due  to  the  breaking  of  air-bladders  entangled  in  the 
water.  There  is  no  rippling  sound  of  water  u  mccom- 
panied  by  bubbles  of  air.  This  inquiry  was  followed  by 
others  of  a  more  complicated  and  difficult  kind.  Well, 
over  and  over  again  after  work  of  this  description  had 
begun,  I  found  myself  infringing  my  programme  of 
study.  Discontent  and  self-reproach  were  the  first 
result.  But  it  was  soon  evident  that  a  rigid  ordering 
of  time  would  now  be  out  of  place.  You  could  not 


242  ADDRESS  DELIVERED  AT 

call  up  at  will  the  spirit  of  research.  It  was  like 
that  other  spirit  which  cometh  when  it  listeth,  an<l 
greater  wisdom  was  shown  in  following  out  at  the  time 
a  profitable  line  of  thought,  than  in  adhering  to  a 
fixed  lesson-plan.  By  degrees  all  discontent  vanished, 
and  I  became  acclimatised  to  my  new  intellectual  con- 
ditions. Continuing  to  work  strenuously  but  happily 
till  the  autumn  of  1850,  I  then  came  to  England. 
But  I  soon  returned  to  Germany,  being  this  time 
accompanied  by  my  lifelong  friend,  Mr.  Thomas  Archer 
Hirst,  late  Director  of  Studies  in  the  Eoyal  Naval 
College. 

To  those  Marburg  days  I  look  back  with  warm 
affection,  both  in  regard  to  Nature  and  to  man.  The 
surrounding  landscape  with  its  various  points  of  interest 
and  beauty  is  still  present  to  my  mind's  eye:  the 
Dommelsberg,  the  Kirch spitze,  Spielslust,  Marbach, 
Werda,  and  farther  off  Kirchain,  with  its  neighbouring 
spurt  of  basaltic  rock.  On  this  huge  wart  stands  a 
Catholic  church,  many  Catholic  crosses,  and  a  village 
containing  a  purely  Catholic  population.  It  might  be 
described  as  an  oasis  of  Catholicism  amid  a  howling 
desert  of  Protestantism,  for  Protestantism  was  regnant 
everywhere  around.  And  then  there  were  the  various 
places  of  refreshment  dotted  over  the  neighbourhood, 
to  which  we  resorted  in  little  parties  from  time  to  time. 
Close  at  hand  was  Ockershausen,  where  the  students 
used  to  enjoy  their  pancakes  and  sour  milk,  without  a 
thought  that  the  sourness  was  produced  by  little  grow- 
ing microscopic  rods — the  lactic  acid  ferment.  The 
mention  of  this  living  ferment  reminds  me  that  during 
my  time  at  Marburg  existed  a  delicacy  which  is  now 
eaten  with  precautions.  On  slices  of  black  bread  were 
nicely  spread  layers  of  fresh  butter,  and  on  these  again 
thin  slices  of  rohe  Schinken — raw  ham.  The  discovery 


THE  BIRKBECK   INSTITUTION.  243 

of  trichinae  encysted  in  the  muscles  of  the  pig,  which 
when  eaten  had  'the  power  of  reproducing  themselves 
in  multitudes  in  human  muscle,  and  of  destroying  life, 
has  interfered  with  the  luxury  of  rohe  Schinken. 
During  the  Semester  we  had  our  excursions  abroad 
and  our  social  gatherings  at  home.  Krdnzchen  means 
a  small  chaplet  or  crown  of  leaves ;  but  it  also  means  a 
little  circle  or  club,  and  we  had  our  English  Krdnzchen,, 
the  members  of  which  used  to  meet  at  each  other's 
houses  once  a  week,  for  the  reading  of  Shakespeare  and 
Tennyson. 

Eumours  of  the  great  men  of  Berlin  reached  Mar- 
burg from  time  to  time.  Their  names  and  labours 
were  frequently  mentioned  in  the  lectures.  Having 
previou^y  learned  that  I  should  have  the  privilege  of 
working  there  in  the  laboratory  of  Professor  Magnus, 
to  Berlin  I  went  in  the  beginning  of  1851.  Magnus 
had  made  his  name  famous  by  physical  researches  of  the 
highest  importance.  The  finish  and  completeness  of 
his  experiments  were  characteristic.  He  was  a  wealthy 
man,  and  spared  neither  pains  nor  expense  to  render 
his  apparatus  not  only  effective  but  beautiful.  His  ex- 
periments on  the  deviation  of  projectiles  may  be  noted 
as  special  illustrations  here.  But  on  everything  he 
touched  he  sought  to  confer  completeness.  The  last 
years  of  his  life  were,  for  the  most  part,  occupied  in  a 
discussion  with  myself  on  one  of  the  most  difficult  sub- 
jects of  experimental  physics — the  interaction  of  radiant 
heat  and  matter  in  the  gaseous  state  of  aggregation. 
It  was  also  my  privilege  to  meet  Dove,  who  was  re- 
nowned in  various  ways  as  a  physicist.  He  had  won 
fame  in  optics,  acoustics,  and  electricity,  but  his  greatest 
labours  were  in  the  field  of  scientific  meteorology. 
The  two  Roses  were  there,  Heinrich  and  Grustav,  genial 
and  admirable  men,  the  one  a  great  chemist,  the  other 


244  ADDRESS  DELIVERED  AT 

a  great  geologist.  I  met  Mitscherlich,  whose  researches 
in  crystallographic  chemistry  and  physics  had  rendered 
his  name  illustrious.  With  Ehrenberg  I  had  various 
conversations  on  microscopic  organisms.  I  wanted  at 
the  time  some  amorphous  carbonate  of  lime,  and  thought 
that  Ehrenberg's  microscopic  chalk  shells  might  serve 
my  purpose  ;  but  I  was  thrown  back  by  learning  that 
the  shells,  small  as  they  were,  were  built  of  crystals 
smaller  still.  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  Riess,  the 
foremost  exponent  of  friction  al  electricity,  who  more 
than  once  opposed  to  Faraday's  radicalism  his  own 
conservatism  as  regards  electric  theory.  Du  Bois- 
Eeymond  was  there  at  the  time,  full  of  power,  both 
physical  and  mental.  His  fame  had  been  everywhere 
noised  abroad  in  connection  with  his  researches  on 
animal  electricity.  Du  Bois-Reymond  is  now  Perpetual 
Secretary  to  the  Academy  of  Sciences  in  Berlin,  and 
his  discourses  before  that  learned  body  show  that  bis 
literary  power  takes  rank  with  his  power  as  an  investi- 
gator. At  the  same  time  I  met  Clausius,  known  all 
over  the  world  through  his  researches  on  the  mechanical 
theory  of  heat,  and  whose  first  great  paper  on  the  sub- 
ject I  translated  before  quitting  Marburg.  Wiedemann 
was  there,  whose  own  researches  have  given  him  an 
enduring  place  in  science ;  and  who  has  applied  his 
vast  powers  of  reading  and  of  organisation  to  throwing 
into  a  convenient  form  the  labours  of  all  men  and 
nations  on  voltaic  electricity.  Poggendorff,  a  very  able 
experimenter,  was  also  there.  He  is  chiefly  known  in 
connection  with  the  famous  journal  which  so  long  bore 
his  name.  From  all  these  eminent  men  I  received 
every  mark  of  kindness,  and  formed  with  some  of  them 
enduring  friendships.  Helmholtz  was  at  this  time  in 
Konigsberg.  He  had  written  his  renowned  essay  on 
the  Conservation  of  Energy,  which  I  translated,  and  he 


THE  BIRKBECK  INSTITUTION.  245 

had  juti  finished  his  experiments  on  the  velocity  of 
nervous  transmission — proving  this  velocity,  which 
had  previously  been  regarded  as  instantaneous,  or  at  all 
events  as  equal  to  that  of  electricity,  to  be,  in  the 
nerves  of  the  frog,  only  93  feet  a  second,  or  about  one- 
twelfth  of  the  velocity  of  sound  in  air  of  the  ordinary 
temperature.  In  his  own  house  I  had  the  honour  of  an 
interview  with  Humboldt.  He  rallied  me  on  having 
contracted  the  habit  of  smoking  in  Germany,  his 
knowledge  on  this  head  being  derived  from  my  little 
paper  on  a  water-jet,  where  the  noise  produced  by  the 
rupture  of  a  film  between  the  wet  lips  of  a  smoker  is 
referred  to.  He  gave  me  various  messages  to  Faraday, 
declaring  his  belief  that  he  (Faraday)  had  referred  the 
annual  and  diurnal  variation  of  the  declination  of  the 
magnetic  needle  to  their  true  cause — the  variation  of 
the  magnetic  condition  of  the  oxygen  of  the  atmosphere. 
I  was  interested  to  learn  from  Humboldt  himself  that, 
though  so  large  a  portion  of  his  life  had  been  spent  in 
France,  he  never  published  a  French  essay  without 
having  it  first  revised  by  a  Frenchman.  In  those  days 
I  not  unfrequently  found  it  necessary  to  subject  myself 
to  a  process  which  I  called  depolarization.  My  brain, 
intent  on  its  subjects,  used  to  acquire  a  set  resembling 
the  rigid  polarity  of  a  steel  magnet.  It  lost  the  pliancy 
needful  for  free  conversation,  and  to  recover  this  I  used 
to  walk  occasionally  to  Charlottenburg  or  elsewhere. 
From  my  experiences  at  that  time  I  derived  the  notion 
that  hard  thinking  and  fleet  talking  do  not  run  to- 
gether. 

In  trying  to  carry  out  the  desire  of  Mr.  Norris  I 
have  spoken  as  a  worker  to  workers;  believing  that 
though  the  word  I  has  occurred  so  frequently  in  this 
address,  far  from  seeing  in  it  a  display  of  egotism,  you 
will  accept  it  as  a  fragment  of  the  life  of  a  brother  who 


246  ADDRESS  DELIVERED  AT 

has  felt  tlit,  jcars  of  the  battle  in  which  many  of  you  are 
now  engaged.  Duty  has  been  mentioned  as  my  motive 
force.  In  Germany  you  hear  this  word  much  more 
frequently  than  the  word  'glory.'  The  philosophers  of 
Germany  were  men  of  the  loftiest  moral  tone.  In  fact, 
they  were  preachers  of  religion  as  much  as  expounders 
of  philosophy.  Shall  we  say  that  from  them  the  land 
took  its  moral  colour  ?  It  would  be  to  a  great  extent 
true  to  say  so ;  but  it  should  be  added  that  the  German 
philosophers  were  themselves  products  of  the  German 
soil,  probably  deriving  the  basis  of  their  moral  qualities 
from  a  period  anterior  to  their  philosophy.  Let  me 
tell  you  an  illustrative  anecdote.  In  the  summer  of 
1871  I  met  at  Pontresina  two  Prussian  officers — a  cap- 
tain and  a  lieutenant — who  had  come  there  to  recruit 
themselves  after  the  hurts  and  sufferings  of  the  war. 
We  had  many  walks  and  many  talks  together.  It  was 
particularly  pleasant  to  listen  to  the  way  in  which  they 
spoke  of  the  kindness  and  the  sympathy  shown  by  the 
French  peasantry  towards  the  suffering  German  soldiers, 
whether  wour.ded  or  broken  down  upon  the  march.  I 
once  asked  them  how  the  German  troops  behaved  when 
going  into  battle.  Did  they  cheer  and  encourage  each 
other  ?  The  reply  I  received  was  this:  'Never  in  our  ex- 
perience has  the  cry,  "  Wir  miissen  siegen  "  [We  must 
conquer],  been  heard  from  German  soldiers ;  but  in  a 
hundred  instances  we  have  heard  them  resolutely  ex- 
claim, "Wir  miissen  unser  Pflicht  thun"  [We  must  do 
our  duty].'  It  was  a  sense  of  duty  rather  than  love  of 
glory  that  strengthened  t'lose  men,  and  filled  them  with 
an  invincible  heroism.  We  in  England  have  always 
liked  the  iron  ring  of  the  word  '  duty.'  It  was  Nelson's 
talisman  at  Trafalgar.  It  was  the  guiding-star  of 
Wellington.  When,  on  the  death  of  Wellington,  he 
wrote  his  immortal  'Ode,'  our  Laureate  poured  into 


THE  BIRKBECK  INSTITUTION.  24? 

the  praise  of  Duty  the  full    strength  of  his  English 
heart : — 

Not  once  or  twice  in  our  rough  island-story 
The  path  of  duty  was  the  way  to  glory  : 
He  that  walks  it,  only  thirsting 
For  the  right,  and  learns  to  deaden 
Love  of  self,  before  his  journey  closes, 
He  shall  find  the  stubborn  thistle  bursting 
Into  glossy  purples,  which  outredden 
All  voluptuous  garden  roses. 
Not  once  or  twice  in  our  fair  island-story 
The  path  of  duty  was  tiie  way  to  glory. 


248  THOMAS  YOUNG. 


1886. 

THOMAS  YOUNG.1 
EAULT  LIFE  AND  STUDIES. 

FOUR  great  names  are  indissolubly  associated  with 
the  establishment  in  which  we  are  here  assembled 
— its  founder,  Benjamin  Thompson,  better  known  as 
Count  Eumford;  its  Chemical  Professor,  Humphry 
Davy ;  its  Professor  of  Natural  Philosophy,  Thomas 
Young ;  and,  finally,  the  man  whom  so  many  of  us  have 
the  privilege  to  remember,  Michael  Faraday.  Of  the 
character  and 'achievements  of  the  third  of  the  great 
men  here  named,  less  seems  to  be  publicly  known  than 
ought  to  be  known.  Even  a  portion  of  this  audience 
may  possibly  have  some  addition  made  to  its  knowledge 
by  reference  to  the  life  of  a  man  who  served  the  In- 
stitution in  the  opening  of  the  present  century.  I 
therefore  thought  that  such  a  brief  account  of  him  as 
could  be  compressed  into  an  hour  might  not  be  without 
interest  and  instruction  at  the  present  time. 

Thomas  Young  was  born  at  Milverton,  in  Somerset- 
shire, June  13,  1773.  His  parents  were  members 
of  the  Society  of  Friends.  Nearly  seven  years  of 
his  childhood  were  spent  with  his  maternal  grand- 
father. He  soon  evinced  a  precocity  which  might  have 
i.^en  expected  to  run  to  seed  and  die  rapidly  out. 
When  he  was  two  years  old  he  was  able  to  read  with 
considerable  fluency,  and  before  he  had  attained  the 

1  My  last  lecture  in  the  Royal  Institution,  delivered  Jan.  22, 
183t>.     Cluef  authority:  Dean  Peacock's  Life  of  Young. 


EAELY  LIFE  AND  STUDIES.  249 

age  of  four  years,  he  had  read  the  Bible  twice  through. 
At  the  age  of  six  he  learnt  by  heart  the  whole  of  Gold- 
smith's 'Deserted  Village.'  His  first  formal  teachers 
were  not  successful,  and  an  aunt  in  those  early  days 
appears  to  have  been  more  useful  to  him  than  anybody 
else.  When  not  quite  seven  years  of  age,  he  was  placed 
at  what  he  calls  a  miserable  boarding-school  at  Stapleton, 
near  Bristol.  But  he  soon  became  his  own  tutor,  dis- 
tancing in  his  studies  those  who  were  meant  to  teach 
him. 

In  March  1782  he  was  sent  to  the  school  of 
Mr.  Thompson,  at  Compton,  in  Dorsetshire,  of  whose 
liberality  and  largeness  of  mind  Young  spoke  after- 
wards with  affectionate  recognition.  Here  he  worked 
at  Greek  and  Latin,  and  read  a  great  many  books  in 
both  languages.  He  also  studied  mathematics  and 
book-keeping.  Of  pregnant  influence  on  his  future 
life  was  the  reading  of  Martin's  4  Lectures  on  Natural 
Philosophy,'  and  Ry land's  '  Introduction  to  the  New- 
tonian Philosophy.'  He  read  with  particular  delight 
the  optical  portions  of  Martin's  work.  An  usher  of  the 
school,  named  Jeffrey,  taught  him  how  to  make  tele- 
scopes and  to  bind  books.  The  early  years  of  Young 
and  Faraday  thus  inosculate,  the  one,  however,  pursuing 
bookbinding  as  an  amusement,  and  the  other  as  a 
profession.  Young  borrowed  a  quadrant  from  an  in- 
telligent saddler  named  Atkins,  and  with  it  determined 
the  principal  heights  in  his  neighbourhood.  He  took 
to  botany  for  a  time,  but  was  more  and  more  drawn 
towards  optics.  He  constructed  a  microscope.  The 
disentangling  of  difficult  problems  was  his  delight. 
Seeing  some  fluxional  symbols  in  Martin's  work,  he  at- 
tacked the  study  of  fluxions.  Priestley  on  Air  was  read 
and  understood,  while  the  Italian  language  was  mastered 
by  the  aid  of  one  of  his  schoolfellows  named  Fox. 


250  THOMAS  YOUNO. 

After  leaving  Compton,  he  devoted  himself  to  the 
study  of  Hebrew.  Mr.  Toulmin,  of  whom  Young  speaks 
with  affection,  lent  him  grammars  of  the  Hebrew, 
Chaldee,  Syriac,  and  Samaritan  languages,  all  of  which 
he  studied  with  diligence  and  delight.  Mr.  Toulmin 
also  lent  him  the  Lord's  Prayer  in  more  than  a  hundred 
languages,  the  examination  of  which  gave  him  extra- 
ordinary pleasure.  Through  one  of  those  accidents 
which  enter  so  largely  into  the  tissue  of  human  life, 
Young  found  himself  at  Youngsbury,  near  Ware,  in 
Hertfordshire.  It  was  a  strong  testimony  to  his  talent 
and  character,  that  Mr.  Barclay  at  this  time  accepted 
him  as  the  preceptor  of  his  grandson,  Mr.  Hudson  Grur- 
ney,  although  Young  was  then  little  more  than  fourteen, 
and  his  pupil  only  a  year  and  a  half  younger  than  him- 
self. Thus  began  a  lifelong  friendship  between  him 
and  Hudson  Grurney.  Young  spent  five  years  at  Youngs- 
bury,  which  he  deemed  the  most  profitable  years  of  his 
life.  He  spent  the  winter  months  in  London,  visiting 
booksellers'  shops  and  hearing  occasional  lectures.  He 
kept  a  journal  in  Hertfordshire,  the  first  entry  of  which 
informs  us  that  he  had  written  out  specimens  of  the 
Bible  in  thirteen  different  languages.  It  is  recorded  of 
Young  that,  when  requested  by  an  acquaintance,  who 
presumed  somewhat  upon  his  youthful  appearance,  to 
exhibit  a  specimen  of  his  handwriting,  he  very  delicately 
rebuked  the  inquiry  by  writing  a  sentence  in  his  best 
style  in  fourteen  different  languages. 

Although  the  catalogue  of  Young's  books  might  give 
the  impression  that  he  was  a  great  reader,  his  reading 
was  limited ;  but  whatever  he  read,  he  completely 
mastered.  Fichte  compared  the  reading  of  Reviews  to 
tlie  smoking  of  tobacco,  affirming  that  the  two  occupa- 
tions were  equally  pleasant,  and  equally  profitable. 
Young,  in  this  sense,  was  not  a  smoker.  Whatever 


EARLY  LIFE   AND   STUDIES.  251 

study  he  began,  he  never  abandoned;  and  it  was,  saya 
Dean  Peacock,  in  his  'Life  of  Young,'  to  his  steadily 
keeping  to  the  principle  of  doing  nothing  by  halves, 
that  he  was  wont  in  after-life  to  attribute  a  great  part 
of  his  success  as  a  scholar  and  a  man  of  science. 

Young's  mother  was  the  niece  of  Dr.  Brockle.>by, 
and  this  eminent  London  physician  appears  to  have 
taken  the  greatest  interest  in  the  development  of  his 
youthful  relative.  He  nevertheless  occasionally  gave 
Young  a  rap  over  the  knuckles  for  what  he  called  his 
'  prudery.'  We  all  know  the  strenuous  and  honourable 
opposition  that  has  been  always  offered  to  negro  slavery 
by  the  Society  of  Friends.  In  carrying  out  their  princi- 
ples, they  at  one  time  totally  abstained  from  sugar,  lest 
by  using  it  they  should  countenance  the  West  Indian 
planters.  Young  here  imitated  the  conduct  of  his  sect, 
which  Dr.  Brocklesby  stigmatised  as  '  prudery.'  '  My 
late  excellent  friend  Mr.  Day,'  says  the  Doctor,  'the 
author  of  "  Sandford  and  Merton,"  abhorred  the  base 
traffic  in  human  lives  as  much  as  you  can  do ;  and  even 
Mr.  Granville  Sharp,  one  of  the  earliest  writers  on  the 
subject,  has  not  done  half  as  much  service  as  Mr.  Day 
in  the  above  work.  And  yet  Mr.  Day  devoured  daily 
as  much  sugar  as  I  do.  Keformation,'  adds  the  Doctor, 
4  must  take  its  rise  elsewhere,  if  ever  there  is  a  general 
mass  of  public  virtue  sufficient  to  resist  such  private 
interests.' 

Over  and  above  his  classical  reading,  from  1790  to 
1792,  Young  read  Simpson's '  Fluxions,'  the  '  Principiu ' 
and '  Optics '  of  Newton,  and  many  of  the  works  of  other 
famous  authors,  including  Bacon,  Linnaeus,  Boerhaave, 
Lavoisier,  Higgins,  and  Black.  He  confined  himself 
co  works  of  the  highest  stamp.  He  mastered  Corueille 
and  Eacine,  read  Shakespeare,  Milton,  Blackstone,  and 
Burke.  But  he  was,  adds  his  biographer,  '  contented 

17 


252  THOMAS  YOUNG. 

to    rest   in   almost   entire  ignorance  of   the    popular 
literature  of  the  day.' 

I  must,  however,  hasten  over  the  early  years  and 
acquirements  of  this  extraordinary  personality.  During 
his  youth  he  had  none  of  the  assistance  which  is  usually 
within  the  reach  of  persons  of  position  in  England.  All 
that  I  have  here  mentioned,  and  a  vast  deal  more, 
he  had  acquired  without  having  entered  either  a 
public  school  or  a  university.  As  a  classic,  he  was,  we 
are  assured,  both  precise  and  profound.  As  a  mathe- 
matician, he  was  many-sided,  original,  and  powerful. 
Such  an  education,  however,  though  well  calculated  to 
develop  the  strength  of  the  individual,  was  not,  in 
Peacock's  opinion,  the  best  calculated  to  place  Young 
in  sympathy  with  the  mind  of  his  age.  'He  was, 
throughout  life,  destitute  of  that  intellectual  fellow- 
feeling  (if  the  phrase  may  be  used)  which  is  so  neces- 
sary to  form  a  successful  teacher  or  lecturer,  or  a 
luminous  and  successful  writer.' 

Young  was  intended  for  the  medical  profession,  and 
his  medical  studies  began  in  1792.  He  came  to  London, 
and  attended  the  lectures  of  Dr.  Baily,  Mr.  Cruikshanks, 
and  John  Hunter.  He  made  the  acquaintance  of  Burke, 
Windham,  Frederick  North,  Sir  Joshua  Eeynolds,  and 
Dr.  Lawrence.  By  the  advice  of  Burke  he  studied  the 
philosophical  works  of  Cicero.  The  bent  of  Young's 
moral  character  may  be  inferred  from  the  quotations 
which  he  habitually  entered  in  his  commonplace  book. 
Here  is  one  of  them  : — '  For  my  part,'  says  Cicero,  '  I 
think  the  man  who  possessed  that  strength  of  mind,  that 
constitutional  tendency  to  temperance  and  virtue,  which 
would  lead  him  to  avoid  all  enervating  indulgences, 
and  to  complete  the  whole  career  of  life  in  the  midst  of 
labours  of  the  body  and  efforts  of  the  mind  ;  whom 


EARLY  LIFE  AND  STUDIES.  253 

neitner  tranquillity  nor  relaxation,  nor  the  flattering 
attentions  of  bis  equals  in  age  and  station,  nor  public 
games  nor  banquets  would  delight;  who  would  regard 
nothing  in  life  as  desirable  which  was  not  united  with 
dignity  and  virtue  ; — such  a  man  I  regard  as  being,  in 
my  judgment,  furnished  and  adorned  with  some  special 
gifts  of  the  gods.' 

His  medical  studies  were  pursued  with  the  thorough- 
ness which  marked  everything  Young  took  in  hand. 
He  was  an  assiduous  attendant  at  the  best  lectures. 
His  delight  in  optics  naturally  drew  him  to  investigate 
the  anatomical  structure  of  the  eye.  In  regard  to  this 
structure  it  will  be  remembered  that  in  front  is  the 
cornea,  holding  behind  it  the  aqueous  humour  ;  then 
comes  the  iris,  surrounding  the  aperture  called  the 
pupil,  at  the  back  of  which  we  have  the  crystalline 
lens.  Behind  this,  again,  is  the  vitreous  humour,  which 
constitutes  the  great  mass  of  the  eye.  Thus,  optically 
considered,  the  eye  is  a  compound  lens  of  great  com- 
plexity and  beauty.  Behind  the  vitreous  humour  is 
spread  the  screen  of  the  retina,  woven  of  fine  nerve- 
fibres.  On  this  screen,  when  any  object  looked  at  is 
distinctly  seen,  a  sharply-defined  image  of  the  object 
is  formed.  Definition  of  the  image  is  necessary  to  the 
distinctness  of  the  vision.  Were  the  optical  arrange- 
ments of  the  eye  rigid,  distinct  vision  would  be  pos- 
sible only  at  one  definite  distance.  But  the  eye  can 
see  distinctly  at  different  distances.  It  has  what  the 
Germans  call  an  Accommodationsvermogen — a  power 
of  adjustment — which  liberates  it  from  the  thrall  of 
rigidity.  By  what  mechanical  arrangement  is  the  eye 
enabled  to  adjust  itself  both  for  near  and  distant 
objects?  Young  replied,  'By  the  alteration  of  the 
curvature  of  the  crystalline  lens.'  His  memoir  on  this 
subject  was  considered  so  meritorious,  that  it  wa* 


254  THOMAS  YOUNG. 

printed  in  the  'Transactions  of  the  Royal  Society1; 
and  in  the  year  following,  at  the  age  of  twenty-one,  he 
was  elected  a  Fellow  of  the  Society. 

Young's  memoir  evoked  sharp  discussion,  hoth  as 
regards  the  priority  and  the  truth  of  the  discovery.  It 
was  claimed  by  John  Hunter,  while  its  accuracy  was 
denied  by  Hunter's  brother-in-law,  Sir  Everard  Home, 
who,  jointly  with  Mr.  Ramsden,  affirmed  that  the 
adjustment  of  the  eye  depended  on  the  changed 
curvature  of  the  cornea.  A  couched  eye — that  is  to  say, 
an  eye  from  which  the  crystalline  lens  had  been  re- 
moved— they  affirmed  to  be  capable  of  adjustment.  In 
the  face  of  such  authorities  Young,  with  the  candoTir 
of  a  true  man  of  science,  abandoned  the  views  he  had 
enunciated.  But  it  was  only  for  a  time.  He  soon 
resumed  his  inquiries,  and  proved  to  demonstration 
that  couched  eyes  had  no  trace  of  the  power  ascribed 
to  them.  Before  the  time  of  Young,  moreover,  weighty 
authorities  leaned  to  the  view  that  the  adjustment  of 
the  eye  depended  on  the  variation  of  the  distance 
between  the  cornea  and  the  retina.  When  near  objects 
were  viewed,  it  was  thought  that  the  axis  was  length- 
ened, the  retina  or  screen  being  thereby  thrown  farther 
back.  In  distant  vision  the  reverse  took  place.  But 
Young  proved  beyond  a  doubt  that  no  such  variation  in 
the  length  of  the  axis  of  the  eye  occurs ;  and  this  has 
been  verified  in  our  own  day  by  Helmholtz.  The  change 
in  the  curvature  of  the  crystalline  lens  has  been  also 
verified  by  the  most  exact  experiments.  When  we  pass 
for  instance,  from  distant  to  near  vision,  the  image  of  a 
candle-flame  reflected  from  the  front  surface  of  the  leus 
becomes  smaller,  proving  the  lens  to  be  then  more 
sharply  curved.  When  we  pass  from  near  to  distant 
vision,  the  image  becomes  larger,  proving  the  curvature 
of  the  lens  to  have  diminished.  The  radius  of  curvature 


EAELY  LIFE   AND   STUDIES.  255 

of  the  lens  under  these  circumstances  has  been  shown 
to  vary  from  six  to  ten  millimeters.  Young's  theory 
of  the  adjustment  of  the  eye  has  been  therefore  com- 
pletely verified.  But  it  is  still  a  moot  point  as  to  what 
the  mechanism  is  by  which  the  change  of  curvature  is 
produced.  Young  thought  that  it  was  effected  by  the 
muscularity  of  the  lens  itself.  The  muscles,  however, 
would  require  nerves  to  excite  them,  and  it  would  be 
hardly  possible,  in  the  transparent  humours  of  the  eye, 
for  such  nerves  to  escape  detection.  They,  however, 
have  never  been  detected. 

While  passing  through  Bath  in  1794  Young,  at  the 
instance  of  Dr.  Brocklesby,  called  upon  the  Duke  of 
Richmond.  The  impression  made  by  Young  at  this 
time  may  be  gathered  from  a  note  addressed  by  the 
Duke  to  the  Doctor  in  these  terms  : — 'But  I  must  tell 
you  how  pleased  we  all  are  with  Mr.  Young.  I  really 
never  saw  a  young  man  more  pleasing  and  engaging. 
He  seems  to  have  already  acquired  much  knowledge  in 
most  branches,  and  to  be  studious  of  obtaining  more. 
It  comes  out  without  affectation  on  all  subjects  he  talks 
upon.  He  is  very  cheerful  and  easy  without  assuming 
anything  ;  and  even  on  the  peculiarity  of  his  dress  and 
Quakerism,  he  talked  so  reasonably,  that  one  cannot 
wish  him  to  alter  himself  in  any  one  particular.  In 
short,  I  end  as  I  began,  by  assuring  you  that  the 
Duchess  and  I  are  quite  charmed  with  him.'  The  Duke, 
then  Master  of  the  Ordnance,  was  a  very  competent 
man.  He  was  well  acquainted  with  the  instruments 
med  in  the  great  Trigonometrical  Survey  under  his 
control.  He  offered  to  Young  the  post  of  private 
secretary.  Young's  acceptance  would  have  brought 
wilhin  his  reach  both  honour  and  emolument.  But  to 
his  credit  be  it  recorded  he  refused  the  post,  because 


256  THOMAS  YOUNG. 

its  acceptance  would  have  rendered  necessary  the  aban- 
donment of  his  costume  as  a  member  of  the  Society  of 
Friends.  Soon  afterwards  he  paid  a  visit  to  a  cele- 
brated cattle-breeder  near  Ashbourne,  and  describes  with 
vivid  interest  what  Mr.  Bickwell  had  accomplished  by 
the  process  of  artificial  selection.  Facts  like  these, 
presented  afterwards  to  the  pondering  mind  of  Darwin, 
caused  the  great  naturalist  to  pass  from  artificial  to 
natural  selection.  Young  visited  Darwin's  grandfather, 
and  criticised  his  '  Zoonomia.'  The  inspection  of  Dr. 
Darwin's  cameos,  minerals,  and  plants,  gave  him  great 
delight,  the  supreme  pleasure  being  derived  from  the 
cameos.  Dr.  Darwin  stated  that  he  had  borrowed  much 
of  the  imagery  of  his  poetry  from  the  graceful  expres- 
sion and  vigorous  conception  which  these  cameos 
breathe.  His  opinion  of  his  visitor  was  pithily  ex- 
pressed in  a  letter  of  introduction  to  a  friend  in  Edin- 
burgh. '  He  unites  the  scholar  with  the  philosopher, 
and  the  cultivation  of  modern  arts  with  the  simplicity 
of  ancient  manners.' 

Young  went  to  Edinburgh  to  continue  his  studies  in 
medicine.  His  reputation  had  gone  before  him,  and  he 
was  welcomed  in  the  best  society  of  the  northern  capital. 
He  met  Bostock,  Bancroft,  Turner,  Gibbs,  Gregory, 
Duncan,  Black,  and  Munroe.  He  dwells  specially  upon 
the  lectures  of  John  Bell,  whose  demonstrations  in 
anatomy  appeared  to  him  to  be  of  first-rate  excellence. 

There  is  nothing  that  I  have  met  in  Dean  Peacock's 
'Life  of  Young'  to  denote  that  he  was  fervently  reli- 
gious. The  Ciceronian  '  virtue,'  rather  than  religious 
emotion,  seemed  to  belong  to  his  character.  The  hold 
which  mere  habit  long  exercised  over  him,  and  which 
loyalty  to  his  creed  had  caused  him  to  maintain  at  a 
period  of  temptation,  became  more  and  more  relaxed. 
He  gradually  gave  up  the  formal  practices  of  Quakerism 


EARLY  LIFE  AND  STUDIES.  257 

in  regard  to  dress  and  other  matters.  He  took  lessons 
in  dancing,  and  appeared  to  delight  in  that  graceful 
art.  I  remember  the  late  Mr.  Babbage  telling  me  that 
once,  upon  a  London  stage,  by  the  untimely  raising  of 
a  drop-scene.  Young  was  revealed  in  the  attitude  of  a 
dancer.  He  assiduously  attended  the  theatre.  So,  it 
may  be  remarked,  did  the  profoundly  religious  Faraday. 
On  leaving  Edinburgh  he  paid  a  farewell  visit  to  his 
friend  Cruikshanks,  who  took  him  aside,  and  after  much 
preamble,  'told  me,'  says  Young,  'that  he  had  heard 
that  I  had  been  at  the  play,  and  hoped  that  I  should  be 
able  to  contradict  it.  I  told  him  that  I  had  been  seve- 
ral times,  and  that  I  thought  it  right  to  go.  I  know 
you  are  determined  to  discourage  my  dancing  and  sing- 
ing, and  I  am  determined  to  pay  no  regard  whatever  to 
•what  you  say.' 

After  completing  his  studies  at  Edinburgh,  Young 
went  to  the  Highlands.  The  houses  in  which  he  was 
received  show  the  consideration  in  which  he  was  held. 
]  Ie  visited  the  chief  seats  of  learning,  and  the  principal 
li  braries,  as  a  matter  of  course ;  but  he  had  also  occasion 
to  enjoy  and  admire  *  the  good  sense,  frankness,  cordial- 
ity of  manners,  personal  beauty,  and  accomplishments' 
of  the  Scottish  aristocracy.  So  greatly  was  he  delighted 
v  ith  his  visit  to  Gordon  Castle,  that  before  quitting  it 
lie  wrote  thus  :  'I  could  almost  have  wished  to  break 
or  dislocate  a  limb  by  chance,  that  I  might  be  detained 
against  my  will.  I  do  not  recollect  that  I  have  ever 
passed  ray  time  more  agreeably,  or  with  a  party  whom  I 
thought  more  congenial  to  my  own  disposition.'  He 
visited  Staffa,  but  took  more  pleasure  in  Pennant's 
plates  and  descriptions  than  in  Fingal's  Cave,  or  the 
scenery  of  the  island.  From  the  Duchess  of  Gordon  he 
carried  a  letter  of  introduction  to  the  Duke  of  Argyll, 
and  spent  some  time  at  Inverary.  In  riding  out  he 


258  THOMAS  YOUffG. 

was  given  his  choice  to  proceed  leisurely  with  the 
Duke,  or  to  ride  with  the  ladies  and  be  galloped 
over.  His  reply  was,  that  of  all  things  he  liktd  being 
galloped  over,  and  he  made  his  choice  accordingly.  He 
compares  the  two  daughters  of  the  Duke  to  Venus  and 
Minerva,  both  being  goddesses.  He  visited  the  Cum- 
berland lakes.  But  here  it  may  be  said,  once  for  all, 
that  Young  was  somewhat  stunted  in  his  taste  for 
natural  scenery.  He  was  a  man  of  the  town,  fond  of 
social  intercourse,  and  of  intellectual  collision.  He 
could  not  understand  the  possibility  of  any  man 
choosing  to  live  in  the  country  if  the  chance  of  living 
in  London  was  open  to  him.  At  Liverpool  he  dined 
with  Eoscoe,  proceeding  afterwards  to  Coalbrookdale 
and  its  ironworks.  As  previously  at  Carron,  he  was 
greatly  impressed  by  the  glare  of  the  furnaces.  Mr. 
W.  Reynolds,  who  appeared  to  interest  himself  in 
physical  experiments  on  a  large  scale,  told  him  that  he 
had  the  intention  of  making  a  flute  150  feet  long  and 
2^  feet  in  diameter,  to  be  blown  by  a  steam-engine 
and  played  upon  by  barrels.  From  Young's  letters 
it  is  evident  that  he  then  saw  the  value  and  necessity 
of  what  we  now  call  technical  education. 

In  October  1795,  he  became  a  student  in  the 
University  of  Gottingen.  He  gives  an  account  of  his 
diurnal  occupations,  embracing  attendance  at  lectures 
on  history,  on  materia  medica,  on  acute  diseases,  and 
on  natural  history.  He  is  careful  to  note  that  he  had 
also  lessons  twice  a  week  from  Blessmen,  the  academical 
dancing-master,  and  the  same  number  of  lessons  on  the 
clavichord  from  Forkel.  Young's  pursuit  of  '  personal 
accomplishments '  is  considered  by  his  biographer  to 
have  been  excessive.  At  Gottingen  he  attended,  on 
Bundays,  tea  dances  or  supper  dances.  The  mother! 


EARLY  LIFE  AND  STUDIES.  259 

of  handsome  daughters  appear  to  have  been  wary  of 
the  students,  having  reason  *  to  fear  a  traitor  in  every 
young  man.'  He  made  at  Gottingen  the  acquaintance 
of  many  famous  professors — of  Heyne,  Lichtenberg, 
Blumenbach,  and  others.  He  records  a  joke  practised 
on  the  professor  of  geology  which  had  serious  conse- 
quences. The  students  were  rather  bored  by  the  pro- 
fessor's compelling  them  to  go  with  him  to  collect 
*  petrifactions ; '  and  the  young  rogues,  says  Young,  '  in 
revenge,  spent  a  whole  winter  in  counterfeiting  speci- 
mens and  buried  them  in  a  hill  which  the  good  man 
meant  to  explore,  and  imposed  them  upon  him  as  the 
most  wonderful  lusus  naturcB.'  Peacock  adds  the 
remark  that  the  unhappy  victim  of  this  '  roguery '  died 
of  mortification  when  the  imposition  was  made  known 
to  him. 

Before  taking  his  degree,  it  is  customary  for  the 
student  in  German  Universities  to  hand  in  a  dissertation 
written  by  himself.  This  is  circulated  among  the 
Professors  and  is  followed  by  a  public  disputation.  On 
July  16,  Young  did  battle  in  the  Auditorium,  the  sub- 
ject chosen  for  discussion  being  the  human  voice.  He 
acquitted  himself  creditably,  was  complimented  by 
those  present,  and  received  his  degree  as  doctor  of 
physic,  surgery,  and  midwifery.  In  the  thesis  chosen 
for  discussion,  Young  broke  ground  in  those  studies  on 
sound  which,  for  intrinsic  merit,  and  suggesting  as  they 
did  his  subsequent  studies  on  light,  will  remain  for 
ever  famous  in  the  history  of  science.  During  a  pause 
in  the  lectures  he  visited  the  Hartz  Mountains,  making 
himself  acquainted  with  the  scene  of  Goethe's  Walpur- 
gisnacht  on  the  summit  of  the  Brocken.  Wedgwood 
and  Leslie  accompanied  him  on  this  tour.  The  curious 
fossils  dug  up  by  the  young  men  in  the  Unicorn's  Cave 
at  Schwarafeld  excited  curiosity  and  wonder,  but  no« 


260  THOMAS  YOUNG. 

thing  more.  Their  significance  at  that  time  had  not 
been  revealed.  Hearing  Kant  so  much  spoken  of  in 
Germany,  Young  naturally  attacked  the  'Critique  of 
Pure  Reason,'  but  his  other  studies  prevented  him  from 
devoting  much  time  to  the  Critical  Philosophy.  To 
the  portion  of  it  which  he  read  he  attached  no  high 
value.  He  admitted  Kant's  penetration,  but  dwelt 
upon  his  confusion  of  ideas.  The  language  of  the 
*  Critique  '  he  thought  unpardonably  obscure. 

He  visited  Brunswick,  where,  clothed  in  the  proper 
costume,  he  was  presented  at  Court.  After  the  recep- 
tion came  a  supper,  about  twenty  ladies  sitting  on  one 
side  of  a  table,  and  twenty  gentlemen  on  the  other. 
He  endeavoured  to  converse  with  his  neighbour,  but 
found  him  either  sulky  or  stupid.  The  dowager  duchess, 
whom  he  likened  to  a  spectre,  made  her  appearance 
and  began  to  converse  pleasantly.  When  told  that 
Young  had  studied  at  Gottingen,  and  that  he  was  a 
doctor  of  medicine,  she  asked  him  whether  he  could 
feel  a  pulse,  and  whether  the  English  or  the  Germans 
had  the  best  pulses.  Young  replied  that  he  had  felt 
but  one  pulse  in  Germany — the  pulse  of  a  young  lady, 
and  that  it  was  a  very  good  pulse.  Gb'ttingen  was  then 
the  foremost  school  of  horsemanship  in  Europe.  Young 
was  passionately  fond  of  this  exercise,  and  there  were 
no  feats  of  horsemanship,  however  daring  or  difficult, 
which  he  did  not  attempt  or  accomplish.  His  muscu- 
lar power  had  been  always  remarkable,  and  he  could 
clear  a  five-barred  gate  without  touching  it.  H^  was 
better  known  among  the  students  for  his  vaulting  on  a 
wooden  horse  than  for  -writing  Greek.  At  a  Court 
masquerade  he  appeared  in  the  character  of  harlequin, 
which  gave  him  an  excellent  opportunity  of  exhibiting 
his  personal  activity.  Notwithstanding  all  this,  he  did 
cot  quite  like  his  life  in  Gottingen.  The  professors  of 


EARLY  LIFE  AND  STUDIES.  261 

the  University  were  worked  too  hard  to  leave  much 
time  for  the  receptions  and  social  gatherings  in  which 
Young  delighted.  So  he  quitted  Gottingen  on  August 
28,  '  with  as  little  regret  as  a  man  can  leave  any  place 
where  he  has  resided  nine  months.' 

From  Gottingen  he  walked  to  Cassel,  and  thence  by 
Gotha,  Erfurt,  Weimar,  and  Jena,  to  Leipzig.  He  saw 
everything  which  to  him  was  worth  seeing,  and  as  he 
carried  letters  of  introduction  from  the  most  eminent 
men  of  the  age,  he  was  welcomed  everywhere.  Most 
of  the  professors  were  absent  on  their  holiday,  but  at 
Weimar  he  conversed  with  Herder,  who,  though  well 
versed  in  the  English  poets,  cared  nothing,  it  was  said, 
about  rhyme.  At  Jena  he  found  Biitmer,  who,  at  the 
age  of  eighty-three,  was  about  to  begin  the  publication 
of  a  general  dictionary  of  all  existing  languages.  He 
visited  Dresden,  the  Saxon  Switzerland,  and  the  mines 
of  Freiberg.  Here  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  the 
celebrated  Werner.  From  Freiberg  he  went  to  Berlin, 
where  he  dined  twice  with  the  English  Ambassador, 
Lord  Elgin,  and  once  with  Dr.  Brown,  a  Welsh  physi- 
cian in  great  favour  with  the  King.  Over  the  mono- 
tonous sandy  flat  that  lies  between  the  two  cities  he 
journeyed  from  Berlin  to  Hamburg.  Detained  here  for 
a  time  by  adverse  winds,  he  was  treated  with  great 
hospitality. 

One  word  in  conclusion  regarding  the  German 
schools  of  learning.  Germany  is  now  united  and  strong ; 
her  sons  are  learned,  and  her  prowess  is  proved.  But 
the  units  from  which  her  blended  vigour  Mas  sprung 
ought  not  to  be  forgotten.  These  were  the  little 
principalities  and  powers  of  which  she  was  formerly 
composed.  Each  of  them  asserted  its  individuality 
and  independence  by  the  establishment  of  a  local  Uni- 
versity, and  all  over  Germany,  in  consequence,  such 


262  THOMAS  YOUNG. 

institutions  are  sown  broadcast.  In  these  nurseries  of 
mind  and  body,  not  only  Bismarck  and  Von  Moltke, 
but  numbers  of  the  rank  and  file  of  the  German  Army, 
found  nutriment  and  discipline ;  so  that  although,  as 
long  as  her  principalities  remained  separate,  Germany 
as  a  whole  was  weak,  the  individual  action  of  those 
small  States  educated  German  men  so  as  to  make  them 
what  we  now  find  them  to  be. 

Two  epochs  of  Young's  career  as  a  medical  student 
have  been  now  referred  to — his  residence  in  Edinburgh, 
and  his  residence  at  Gottingen.  Immediately  after  his 
return  to  England  he  became  a  fellow-commoner  of 
Emanuel  College,  Cambridge.  When  the  master  of 
the  college  introduced  him  to  those  who  were  to  be  his 
tutors  he  jocularly  said,  '  I  have  brought  you  a  pupil 
qualified  to  read  lectures  to  his  tutors.'  On  one 
occasion,  in  the  Combination  Eoom,  Dr.  Parr  made 
some  dogmatic  observation  on  a  point  of  scholarship. 
'  Bentley,  sir,'  said  Young  promptly  and  firmly,  *  was 
of  a  different  opinion.'  '  A  smart  young  man  that,' 
said  Parr  when  Young  quitted  the  room.  His  lack  of 
humour  and  want  of  knowledge  of  popular  literature 
sometimes  made  him  a  butt  at  the  dinner-table,  but 
he  bore  the  banter  with  perfect  good  humour.  The 
materials  for  Young's  life  at  Cambridge  are  very 
scanty ;  but  there  is  one  brisk  and  energetic  letter, 
published  by  Dean  Peacock,  written  by  a  man  who  was 
by  no  means  partial  to  Young.  '  Young,'  he  said,  *  was 
beforehand  with  the  world  in  perceiving  the  defects  of 
English  mathematicians.  He  looked  down  upon  the 
science,  and  would  not  cultivate  the  acquaintance  of 
any  of  our  philosophers.  He  seemed  never  to  have 
heard  the  names  of  the  poets  and  literary  characters  of 
the  last  century,  and  hardly  ever  spoke  of  English 


EARLY  LIFE  AND  STUDIES.  263 

literature.'  According  to  Peacock's  correspondent,  there 
was  about  Young  no  pretence  or  assumption  of  supe- 
riority. '  He  spoke  upon  the  most  difficult  subjects  as 
if  he  took  it  for  granted  that  all  understood  the  matter 
as  well  as  himself.  But  he  never  spoke  in  praise  of  any 
of  the  writers  of  the  day,  and  could  not  be  persuaded 
to  discuss  their  merits.  He  would  speak  of  knowledge 
in  itself — of  what  was  known  or  what  might  be  known  — 
but  never  of  himself  or  of  any  one  else  as  having  dis- 
covered anything,  or  as  likely  to  do  so.  His  language 
was  correct,  his  utterance  rapid,  but  his  words  were  not 
those  in  familiar  use,  and  he  was  therefore  worse  calcu- 
lated than  any  man  I  ever  knew  for  the  communication 
of  knowledge.'  This  writer  heard  Young  lecture  at  the 
Eoyal  Institution,  but  thought  that  nothing  could  show 
less  judgment  than  the  method  he  adopted.  *  It  was 
difficult  to  say  how  he  employed  himself  at  Cambridge. 
He  read  little  ; l  there  were  no  books  piled  on  his  floor, 
no  papers  scattered  on  his  table.  His  room  had  all  the 
appearance  of  belonging  to  an  idle  man.  He  seldom 
gave  an  opinion,  and  never  volunteered  one ;  never  laid 
down  the  law  like  other  learned  doctors,  or  uttered 
sayings  to  be  remembered.  He  did  not  think  abstract- 
edly. A  philosophical  fact,  a  difficult  calculation,  an 
ingenious  instrument,  or  a  new  invention,  would  en- 
gage his  attention ;  but  he  never  spoke  of  morals,  or 
metaphysics,  or  religion.  Of  the  last,  I  never  heard 
him  say  a  word.  Nothing  in  favour  of  any  sect,  or  in 
opposition  to  any  doctrine.' 

The  impression  made  upon  Young  by  Cambridge 
was,  from  first  to  last,  entirely  favourable.  In  those 
days,  six  years'  study  was  indispensable  before  the 
degree  of  Bachelor  of  Medicine  could  be  taken.  Young 

1  Critics  and  commentators  must  be  great  readers  ;  but  creator* 
in  science  and  philosophy  do  not  always  belong  to  this  category. 


264  THOMAS  YOUNG. 

graduated  in  1803,  when  he  was  thirty  years  of  age, 
and  five  years  more  had  to  elapse  before  he  could 
take  the  degree  of  M.D.  Meanwhile  he  had  begun  the 
practice  of  medicine.  Dr.  Brocklesby  died  in  1797, 
on  the  night  of  a  day  when  he  had  entertained  his 
relative  and  some  other  friends  at  dinner.  During 
dinner  he  seemed  perfectly  well,  but  he  expired  a  few 
minutes  after  he  went  to  bed.  He  left  Young  his 
house  and  furniture  in  Norfolk  Street,  Park  Lane,  his 
library,  his  prints,  a  collection  of  pictures  chiefly  selected 
by  Sir  Joshua  Eeynolds,  and  about  10,000£.  in  money. 

THE  WAVE  THEORY. 

On  January  16,  1800,  Young  communicated  to  the 
Eoyal  Society  a  memoir  entitled  '  Outlines  and  Ex- 
periments respecting  Sound  and  Light.'  In  this  paper 
he  treated  of  the  '  interference '  of  sound,  and  his  re- 
searches on  this  subject  led  him  on  to  the  discovery  of 
the  interference  of  light — '  which  has  proved,'  says 
Sir  John  Herschel,  *  the  key  to  all  the  more  abstruse 
and  puzzling  properties  of  light,  and  which  would  alone 
have  sufficed  to  place  its  author  in  the  highest  rank  of 
scientific  immortality,  even  were  his  other  almost  in- 
numerable claims  to  such  a  distinction  disregarded.' 
Newton  considered  the  sensation  of  light  to  be  aroused 
by  the  impinging  of  particles,  inconceivably  minute, 
against  the  retina.  Huyghens,  on  the  contrary,  sup- 
posed the  sensation  of  light  to  be  aroused  by  the 
impact  of  minute  waves.  Young  favoured  the  theory 
of  undulation,  and  by  his  researches  on  sound  he  waa 
specially  equipped  for  its  thorough  examination.  Before 
he  formally  attacked  the  subject  he  gave,  in  a  paper 
dealing  with  other  matters,  his  reasons  for  espousing 
the  wave  theory.  The  velocity  of  light,  for  instance, 
in  the  same  medium  is  constant.  All  refractions  are 


THE  WAVE  THEORY.  265 

attended  with  partial  reflection.  The  dispersion  of 
light  is  no  more  incompatible  with  this  than  with  any 
other  theory.  Keflection  and  refraction  are  equally 
explicable  on  both  suppositions.  Huyghens  indeed 
had  proved  this,  and  much  more.  Inflection  may  be 
better  explained  by  the  wave  theory  than  by  its  rival. 
The  colours  of  thin  plates,  which  are  perfectly  unin- 
telligible on  the  common  hypothesis,  admit  of  complete 
explanation  by  the  wave  theory.  In  dealing  with  the 
colours  of  thin  films,  of  which  the  soap-bubble  offers 
a  familiar  example,  Young  first  proved  his  mastery 
over  the  undulatory  theory.  In  the  pursuit  of  this 
great  task  he  was  able  to  apply  to  Newton's  Theory 
of  Fits  the  Theory  of  Waves,  and  to  determine  the 
lengths  of  the  undulations  corresponding  to  the  dif- 
ferent colours  of  the  spectrum. 

We  now  approach  a  phase  of  Young's  career  which 
more  specially  concerns  us.  The  Royal  Institution, 
as  already  stated,  was  founded  by  Count  Rumford,  sup- 
ported by  many  of  the  foremost  men  in  England.  The 
King  was  its  patron,  the  Earl  of  Winchilsea  its  first 
president,  while  Lord  Morton,  Lord  Egremont,  and  Sir 
Joseph  Banks  were  its  vice-presidents.  On  January  13, 
1800,  the  Royal  Seal  was  attached  to  the  charter  of  the 
Royal  Institution.  Dr.  Thomas  Garnett  was  appointed 
Professor  of  Natural  Philosophy  and  Chemistry.  During 
his  previous  residence  in  Bavaria,  Rumford  had  ruled" 
with  beneficent  but  despotic  sway,  and  the  habit  of 
mind  thus  engendered  may  have  made  itself  felt  in 
his  behaviour  to  Dr.  Garnett.  At  all  events,  they  did 
not  get  on  well  together.  On  February  16,  1801,  Davy 
was  appointed  Assistant  Lecturer  in  Chemistry,  Direc- 
tor of  the  Chemical  Laboratory,  and  Assistant  Editor 
of  the  Journals  of  the  Institution.  The  post  of  Pro- 


266  THOMAS  YOUNG. 

fessor  of  Natural  Philosophy  was  offered  to  Young,  and 
he  accepted  it.  The  salary  was  to  be  300£.  a  year.  On 
August  3,  1801,  the  following  resolution  was  passed  :  — 
'Kesolved,  that  the  Managers  approve  of  the  measures 
taken  by  Count  Rumford,  and  that  the  appointment  of 
Dr.  Young  be  confirmed.'  Young,  it  is  said,  was  not 
successful  as  a  lecturer  in  the  Institution,  and  this 
Dr.  Peacock  ascribes  to  his  early  education,  which  gave 
him  no  opportunity  of  entering  into  the  intellectual 
habits  of  other  men.  More  probably  the  defect  was 
due  to  a  mental  constitution,  not  plastic,  like  that  of 
Davy  or  Faraday,  in  regard  to  exposition.  Young  now 
fairly  fronted  the  undulatory  theory  of  light.  Before 
you  is  some  of  the  apparatus  he  employed.  I  hold  in 
my  hand  an  ancient  tract  upon  this  subject  by  the 
illustrious  Huyghens.  It  was  picked  up  on  a  book- 
stall, and  presented  to  me  some  years  ago  by  Professor 
Dewar.  In  this  tract  Huyghens  deals  with  refraction 
and  reflection,  giving  a  complete  explanation  of  both  ; 
and  here,  also,  he  enunciated  a  principle  which  now 
bears  his  name,  and  which  forms  one  of  the  foundation- 
stones  of  the  undulatory  theory. 

The  most  formidable  obstacle  encountered  by  Young, 
and  one  which  he  never  entirely  surmounted,  was  an 
objection  raised  by  Newton  to  the  assumption  of  a  fluid 
medium  as  the  vehicle  of  light.  Looking  at  the  waves 
of  water  impinging  on  an  isolated  rock,  Newton  ob- 
served that  the  rock  did  not  intercept  the  wave  motion. 
The  waves,  on  the  contrary,  bent  round  the  rock,  and 
set  in  motion  the  water  at  the  back  of  it.  Baring 
himself  on  this  and  similar  observations,  he  says,  'Are 
not  all  hypotheses  erroneous  in  which  light  is  supposed 
to  consist  of  a  pre.^sion  or  motion  propagated  through 
a  fli  id  medium  ?  If  it  consisted  in  pression  or  motion, 
it  would  bend  into  the  shadow.'  He  instances  the  case 


THE  WAVE  THEORY.  267 

of  the  sound  of  a  bell  being  heard  behind  a  hill  which 
conceals  the  bell ;  of  the  turning  of  corners  by  sound  ; 
and  then,  with  conclusive  force,  he  points  to  the  case  of  a 
planet  coming  between  a  fixed  star  and  the  eye,  when 
the  star  is  completely  blotted  out  by  the  interposition 
of  the  opaque  body.  This,  Newton  urged,  could  not 
possibly  occur  if  li<>ht  were  propagated  by  waves  through 
a  fluid  medium,  for  such  waves  would  infallibly  stir  the 
fluid  behind  the  lanet,  and  thus  obliterate  the  shadow. 
Young  was  firmly  persuaded  of  the  truth  of  the 
undulatory  theory.  The  number  of  riddles  that  he 
had  solved  by  means  of  it,  the  number  of  secrets  he 
had  unlocked,  the  number  of  difficulties  he  had  crushed, 
rendered  him  steadfast  in  his  belief;  still,  he  never 
fairly  got  over  this  objection  of  Newton's.  It  was 
finally  set  aside  by  one  of  the  most  illustrious  men  that 
ever  adorned  the  history  of  science.  A  young  French 
officer  of  engineers,  Augustin  Fresnel,  first  really 
grappled  with  the  difficulty  and  overthrew  it.  The 
principle  of  Huyghens,  to  which  I  have  already  re- 
ferred, is,  that  every  particle,  in  every  wave,  acts  as 
if  it  alone  were  a  centre  of  wave  motion.  When  you 
throw  a  stone  into  the  Serpentine,  circular  waves  or 
ripples  are  formed,  which  follow  each  other  in  succes- 
sion, retreating  farther  and  farther  from  the  point  of 
disturbance.1  Fix  your  attention  on  one  of  these  cir- 
cular waves.  The  form  of  the  wave  moves  forward, 

1 '  I  prove  it  thus,  take  heed  now 
By  experience,  for  if  that  tliou 
Threw  in  water  now  a  stone 
Well  wost  thou  it  will  make  anone, 
A  little  roundell  as  a  cercle, 
Peraventure  as  broad  as  a  couercle, 
And  right  anone  thou  shalt  see  wele, 
That  wheie  cercle  wil  cause  another  whele, 
And  that  a  third  and  so  forth  brother, 
Every  cercle  causing  other,' — CHAUCEB'S  Hmiseof  Fame. 

18 


268  THOMAS  YOUNG. 

but  the  motion  of  its  individual  particles,  at  any  mo- 
ment, is  simply  a  vibration  up  and  down.  Now  each 
oscillating  particle  of  every  moving  wave,  if  left  to  itself, 
would  produce  a  series  of  waves,  not  so  high,  but  in  other 
respects  exactly  similar  to  those  produced  by  the  stone. 
The  coalescence  of  all  these  small  waves  produces 
another  wave  of  exactly  the  same  kind  as  that  which 
started  them.  The  principle  that  every  particle  of  a 
wave  acts  independently  of  all  other  particles,  while 
the  waves  produced  by  all  the  particles  afterwards 
combine,  is,  as  I  have  said,  the  great  principle  of 
Huyghens.  Taken  in  conjunction  with  the  interference 
of  light,  first  established  by  Thomas  Young,  which 
proved  that  when  waves  coalesce  or  combine,  they  may 
either  support  each  other  or  neutralise  each  other,  the 
neutralisation  being  either  total  or  partial,  according 
as  the  opposition  of  the  combining  waves  is  complete  or 
incomplete — taking,  I  say,  the  principle  of  interference 
in  conjunction  with  that  of  Huyghens,  Fresnel  proved 
that  although  light  does  diverge  behind  an  opaque 
body,  as  Newton  supposed  that  it  would  diverge,  these 
divergent  waves  completely  efface  each  other,  pro- 
ducing the  shadow  due  to  the  tranquillity  of  the 
medium  which  propagates  the  light. 

By  reference  to  the  waves  of  water,  Young  illus- 
trates, in  the  most  lucid  manner,  the  interference  of 
the  waves  of  light.  He  pictures  two  series  of  waves 
generated  at  two  points  near  each  other  in  a  lake,  and 
reaching  a  channel  issuing  from  the  lake.  If  the  waves 
arrive  at  the  same  moment,  neither  series  will  destroy 
the  other.  If  the  elevations  of  both  series  coincide, 
they  will,  by  their  joint  action,  produce  in  the  channel 
a  series  with  higher  elevations.  But  if  the  elevations  of 
one  series  correspond  to  the  depressions  of  the  other, 
the  ridges  will  exactly  fill  the  furrows,  smooth  water 


THE  WAVE  THEORY.  269 

in  the  channel  being  the  result.  *  At  least,'  says  Young, 
*  I  can  discover  no  alternative,  either  from  theory  or 
from  experiment.  Now,'  he  continues,  gathering  con- 
fidence as  he  reasons,  *  I  maintain  that  similar  effects 
take  place  whenever  two  portions  of  light  are  thus 
mixed,  and  this  I  call  the  general  law  of  the  Inter- 
ference of  Light.' 

The  physical  meaning  of  all  the  terms  applied  to 
light  was  soon  fixed.  Intensity  depended  upon  the 
amplitudes  of  the  waves.  Colour  depended  on  the 
lengths  of  the  waves.  Two  series  of  waves  coalesced 
and  helped  each  other  when  one  was  any  number  of 
complete  undulations,  or,  in  other  words,  any  even 
number  of  half-undulations,  behind  the  other.  Two 
series  of  waves  extinguished  each  other  when  the  one 
series  was  any  odd  number  of  semi-undulations  behind 
the  other.  But  inasmuch  as  white  light  is  made  up  of 
innumerable  waves  of  different  lengths,  such  waves 
cannot  all  interfere  at  the  same  time.  Some  interfere 
totally,  and  destroy  each  other ;  some  partially ;  while 
some  add  themselves  together  and  enhance  the  effect. 
Thus,  by  interference,  a  portion  only  of  the  white  light 
is  destroyed,  and  the  remaining  portion  is,  as  a  general 
rule,  coloured.  Indeed  most  glowing  and  brilliant 
effects  of  coloration  are  thus  produced.  Young  applied 
the  theory  successfully  to  explain  the  colours  of  striated 
surfaces  which,  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Eutherfurd  and 
others,  have  been  made  to  produce  such  splendid  effects. 
The  iridescences  on  the  polished  surfaces  of  mother- 
of-pearl  are  due  to  the  striae  produced  by  the  edges  of 
the  shell-layers,  which  are  of  infinitesimal  thickness; 
the  fine  lines  dnovn  by  Coventry,  Wollaston,  and  Barton 
upon  glass  also  showed  these  colours.  Barton  after- 
wards succeeded  in  transferring  the  lines  to  steel  and 
braes.  Most  of  you  are  acquainted  with  the  iridescence 


270  THOMAS  YOUNG. 

of  Barton's  buttons.  A  descendant  of  Mr.  Barton  has, 
I  believe,  succeeded  in  reproducing  the  instrument 
wherewith  his  grandfather  obtained  his  brilliant  effects. 
But  the  greatest  triumph  of  Young  in  this  field  was 
the  explanation  of  the  beautiful  phenomenon  known  as 
Newton's  rings.  The  colours  of  thin  plates  were  pro- 
fusely illustrated  by  the  experiments  of  Hooke  and 
Boyle,  but  Newton  longed  for  more  than  illustrations. 
He  desired  quantitative  measurement.  The  colour  of 
the  film  was  known  to  depend  upon  its  thickness.  Can 
this  thickness  be  measured  ?  Here  the  unparalleled 
penetration  of  Newton  came  into  play.  He  took  a  lens, 
consisting  of  a  slice  of  a  sphere  of  a  diameter  so  large  that 
a  portion  of  the  curved  surface  of  the  lens  approximated 
to  a  plane  surface.  Upon  this  slightly  convex  surface  he 
placed  a  plate  of  glass  the  surface  of  which  was  accurately 
plane.  Squeezing  them  together,  and  allowing  light 
to  fall  upon  them,  he  observed  those  beautiful  iris- 
circles  with  which  his  name  will  be  for  ever  identified. 
The  iris-colours  were  obtained  when  he  employed  white 
light.  When  monochromatic  light  was  used  he  had 
simply  successive  circles  of  light  and  darkness.  Here 
then,  from  the  central  point  where  the  two  glasses 
touched  each  other,  Newton  obtained  a  film  of  air 
winch  gradually  increased  in  thickness  as  he  retreated 
from  the  point  of  contact.  Whence  this  wonderful 
recurrence  of  light  and  darkness  ?  The  very  constitu- 
tion of  light  itself  must  be  involved  in  the  answer. 
His  desire  was  now  to  ascertain  the  thickness  of  the 
film  of  air  corresponding  to  the  respective  rings. 
Knowing  the  curvature  of  his  lens,  this  was  a  matter  of 
easy  calculation.  He  measured  the  diameter  of  the 
fifth  ring  of  the  series.  This  might  be  accurately  done 
with  a  pair  of  fine  compasses,  for  the  diameter  was  over 
the  fifth  of  an  inch  in  length.  But  it  was  the  interval 


THE  WAVE  THEORY.  271 

between  the  glasses  corresponding  to  this  distance  that 
Newton  required  to  know,  and  this  he  found  by  calcu- 
lation to  be  OTWoth  of  an  inch.  This,  be  it  remem- 
bered, is  the  distance  corresponding  to  the  fifth  ring. 
The  interval  corresponding  to  the  first  ring  would 
be  only  a  fifth  of  this,  or,  in  other  words,  about 
rroinnrth  of  an  inch.  Such  are  the  magnitudes  with 
which  we  have  to  deal  before  the  question  '  What  is 
Light?  '  can  be  scientiBcally  answered. 

Newton's  explanation  of  the  rings  which  he  was  the 
first  to  discover,  though  artificial  in  the  highest  degree, 
is  marked  by  his  profound  sagacity.  He  was  hampered 
by  the  notion  of  the  *  corporeity  '  of  light.  He  could 
not  get  over  the  objection  raised  by  himself  as  to  the 
impossibility  of  shadows  in  a  fluid  medium.  He  held 
therefore  that  light  was  due  to  the  darting  forth  of 
minute  particles  in  straight  lines ;  and  he  threw  out  the 
idea  that  colour  might  be  due  to  the  difference  of  '  big- 
ness '  in  the  particles.  He  endowed  these  particles  with 
what  he  called  fits  of  easy  transmission  and  reflection. 
The  dark  rings,  in  his  immortal  experiment,  were  pro- 
duced where  the  light-particles  were  in  their  trans- 
missive  *  fit.'  They  went  through  both  surfaces  of  the 
film  of  air,  and  were  not  thrown  back  to  the  eye.  The 
bright  rings  occurred  where  the  light-particles  were  in 
their  reflective  fit,  and  where,  on  reaching  the  second 
surface  of  the  film,  they  were  thrown  back  to  the  eye. 
The  cardinal  point  here  is,  that  Newton  regarded  the 
recurrence  of  light  and  darkness  as  due  to  an  action 
confined  to  the  second  surface  of  the  film.  And  here 
it  was  that  Young  came  into  irreconcilable  collision 
vith  him,  proving  to  demonstration  that  the  dark  rings 
occurred  where  the  portions  of  light  reflected  homboth, 
sides  of  the  film  extinguished  each  other  by  inter- 
ference, while  the  bright  rings  occurred  where  the  light 


272  THOMAS  YOUNO. 

reflected  from  the  two  surfaces  coalesced  to  enhance  the 
intensity. 

Young  next  applied  the  wave  theory  to  account  for 
the  diffraction  or  inflection  of  light — that  is  to  say,  the 
effects  produced  by  its  bending  round  the  edges  of 
bodies.  When  a  cone  of  rays,  issuing  from  a  very 
minute  point,  impinges  on  an  opaque  body,  so  as  to 
embrace  it  wholly,  the  shadow  of  the  body,  if  received 
upon  a  screen,  exhibits  fringes  of  colour.  They  follow 
so  closely  the  contour  of  the  opaque  body,  that  Sir  John 
Herschel  compared  them  to  the  lines  along  the  sea- 
coast  in  a  map.  If  a  very  thin  slip  of  card,  or  a  hair, 
be  placed  within  such  a  cone,  it  is  noticed  that  besides 
the  fringes  outside  the  shadow,  bands  of  colour  occur 
within  it ;  the  central,  or  brightest,  band  being  always 
white  when  white  light  is  employed.  It  is  a  singular 
and  somewhat  startling  fact,  that  by  the  interposition 
of  an  opaque  body,  say  a  small  circle  of  tinfoil,  the 
point  on  which  we  should  expect  the  centre  of  the 
shadow  to  faU  is,  by  the  joint  action  of  diffraction  and 
interference,  illuminated  to  precisely  the  same  extent 
as  it  is  when  the  opaque  circle  is  withdrawn.1  In  refer- 
ence to  the  interior  fringes  Young  made  the  obser- 
vation, which  is  of  primary  importance,  that  if  you 
intercept  the  light  passing  by  one  of  the  edges  of  the 
strip  of  card  or  of  the  hair,  the  fringes  disappear.  It 
requires  the  inflection  of  the  waves  round  both  edges  of 
the  object,  and  their  consequent  interference,  to  pro- 
duce these  fringes. 

Young's  attempt  to  explain  the  phenomena  of  dif- 
fraction was  a  distinct  advance  on  the  extremely  arti- 
ficial hypothesis  of  Newton.  Still  his  attempt  was  not 
so  successful  as  his  explanation  of  the  colours  of  striated 

1  A    similar  diffraction  has  been  proved  by  Lord  Eayleigh  tc 
occur  in  the  case  of  sound. 


TIIE  WAVE  THEORY.  273 

surfaces  and  of  thin,  thick,  and  mixed  plates.  Here 
the  young  officer  of  engineers  to  whom  I  have  already 
referred — Fresnel — entered  the  field.  He  presented  ia 
1815,  to  the  French  Institute,  a  memoir  on  Diffraction 
which  marks  an  epoch  in  the  history  of  the  wave  theory. 
It  is  usual,  when  such  a  paper  is  presented,  to  refer  it 
to  a  *  Commission,'  who  consider  it  and  report  upon  its 
merits.  The  Commissionnairea  in  this  instance  were 
Arago  and  Prony. 

Arago  had  read  the  memoirs  of  Young  in  the 
'Philosophical  Transactions,'  but  had  not  understood 
their  full  significance.  The  study  of  Fresnel's  memoir 
caused  the  full  truth  to  flash  upon  him  that  his  young 
countryman  had  been  anticipated  thirteen  years  pre- 
viously by  Dr.  Young.  Fresnel  had  re-discovered  the 
principle  of  interference  independently,  and,  with  pro- 
found insight  and  unrivalled  experimental  skill,  had  ap- 
plied it  to  the  phenomena  of  diffraction.  It  was  no  light 
thing  for  Fresnel  to  find  himself  as  regards  the  principle 
of  interference  suddenly  shorn  of  his  glory.  He,  how- 
ever, bore  the  shock  with  resignation.  He  might  have 
readily  made  claims  which  would  have  found  favour 
with  his  countrymen  and  with  the  world  at  large.  But 
he  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  The  history  of  science 
indeed  furnishes  no  brighter  example  of  honourable 
fairness  than  that  exhibited  throughout  his  too  short 
life  by  the  illustrious  young  Frenchman.  Once  assured 
that  he  had  been  anticipated — whatever  might  have 
been  the  extent  of  his  own  labours,  however  indepen- 
dently he  might  have  arrived  at  his  results — he  unre- 
servedly withdrew  all  claim  to  the  discovery.  There 
is,  I  repeat,  no  finer  example  of  scientific  honour  than 
that  manifested  by  Augustin  Fresnel. 

Fresnel  was  a  powerful   mathematician,  and  well 
versed  in  the  best  mathematical  methods  of  his  day. 


274  THOMAS  YOUNO. 

With  enormous  labour  he  calculated  the  positions  where 
the  phenomena  of  interference  must  display  themselves 
in  a  definite  way.  He  was,  moreover,  a  most  refined 
experimentalist,  and  having  made  his  calculations,  he 
devised  instrumental  means  of  the  most  exquisite  deli- 
cacy with  the  vie^f  of  verifying  his  results.  In  this 
way  he  swept  the  field  of  diffraction  practically  clear  of 
difficulty,  solving  its  problems  where  even  Young  had 
failed. 

Truly,  these  were  minds  possessing  gifts  not  pur- 
chasable with  money!  And  round  about  the  central 
labours  of  each,  minor  achievements  of  genius  are  to  be 
found,  which  would  be  a  fortune  to  less  opulent  men. 
I  hardly  know  a  more  striking  example  of  Young's  pene- 
tration than  his  account  of  the  spurious  or  supernume- 
rary bows  observed  within  the  true  primary  rainbow. 
These  interior  bows  are  produced  by  interference.  It 
is  not  difficult,  by  artificial  means,  to  form  them  in 
great  number  and  beauty.  This  is  a  subject  on  which 
I  worked  assiduously  a  couple  of  years  ago.1  And  often, 
when  looking  at  these  wondrous  interference  circles, 
the  words  of  Young  seemed  to  me  like  the  words  of 
prophecy.  The  bows  were  the  physical  transcript  of 
what  he  stated  must  occur ;  a  transcript,  moreover, 
which,  compared  with  his  words,  was  far  more  complete 
and  impressive  than  any  ever  exhibited  by  the  rainbow 
in  Nature.  Take  another  instance.  The  beautiful  rings 
of  colour  observed  when  a  point  of  light  is  looked  at 
through  the  seeds  oi  lycopodium  shaken  over  a  piece 
of  glass,  or  shaken  as  a  cloud  in  the  air,  are  known  to 
be  produced  by  minute  particles  all  of  the  same  size. 
The  iridescence  of  clouds  seen  sometimes  in  great 
splendour  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  but  more  frequently  in 
the  Alps,  is  due  to  this  equality  in  the  size  of  the 

1  Sec  art.  '  The  Rainbow  and  its  Congeners,'  in  this  volume. 


THE  "WAVE  THEOBY.  275 

cloud-particles.  Now,  the  smaller  the  particles,  the 
vider  are  the  coloured  rings,  and  Young  devised  an 
instrument,  called  the  Eriometer,  which  enabled  him 
from  the  measurement  of  the  rings  to  infer  the  size  oi 
the  pa:  tides.1  Again,  Hitter  had  discovered  the  ultra- 
violet rays  of  the  spectrum,  -while  Wollaston  had 
noticed  the  darkening  effect  produced  by  these  rays 
when  permitted  to  fall  on  paper,  or  leather,  which  had 
been  dipped  in  a  solution  of  muriate  of  silver.  Employ- 
ing these  invisible  rays  to  produce  invisible  Newton's 
rings,  Young  projected  an  image  of  the  rings  upon  the 
chemically-prepared  paper.  He  thus  obtained  a  dis- 
tinct photographic  image  of  the  rings.  This  was  one 
of  the  earliest  experiments  wherein  a  true  photographic 
picture  was  produced.  Young  had  little  notion  at  the 
time  of  the  vast  expansions  which  the  art  of  photo- 
graphy 'vas  subsequently  to  undergo. 

But  Young  was  not  permitted  to  pursue  his  great 
researches  in  peace.  The  '  Edinburgh  Keview  '  had  at 
that  time  among  its  chief  contributors  a  young  man  of 
vast  energy  of  brain  and  vast  power  of  sarcasm,  without 
the  commensurate  sense  of  responsibility  which  might 
have  checked  and  guided  his  powers.  His  intellect  was 
not  for  a  moment  to  be  measured  with  that  of  Young ; 
but  as  a  writer  appealing  to  a  large  class  of  the  public, 
he  was,  at  that  time,  an  athlete  without  a  rival.  He 
a  ''terwards  became  Lord  Chancellor  of  England.  Young, 
it  may  be  admitted,  had  given  him  some  annoyance, 
but  his  retaliation,  if  such  it  were,  was  out  of  all  pro- 
p  jrtion  to  Young's  offence.  Besides,  whatever  his  per- 

1  In  disorders  of  the  eyes  such  particles  sometimes  escape  into 
the  humours,  and  produce  vivid  colours.  The  enlargement  of  the 
circles,  which  generally  excites  terror,  is  a  good  sign,  as  it  indicates 
the  increasing  smallness  of  the  particles  by  absorption. 


276  THOMAS  YOUNG. 

sonal  feelings  were,  it'  was  not  Young  that  he  assailed 
so  much  as  those  sublime  natural  truths  of  which  Young 
at  the  time  was  the  foremost  exponent.  Through  the 
undulatory  theory  he  attacked  Young  without  scruple 
or  remorse.  He  sneered  at  his  position  in  the  Royal 
Institution,  and  tried  hard  to  have  his  papers  excluded 
from  the  'Philosophical  Transactions.'  'Has  the  Eoyal 
Society,'  he  says,  'degraded  its  publications  into  bulletins 
of  new  and  fashionable  theories  for  the  ladies  of  the 
Koyal  Institution  ?  Let  the  Professor  continue  to  amuse 
his  audience  with  an  endless  variety  of  such  harmless 
trifles,  but  in  the  name  of  science  let  them  not  find 
admittance  into  that  venerable  repository  which  con- 
tains the  works  of  Newton  and  Boyle  and  Cavendish 
and  Maskelyne  and  Herschel.'  The  profound,  compli- 
cated, and  novel  researches  on  which  Young  was  then 
engaged  rendered  an  occasional  change  of  view  neces- 
sary. How  does  the  reviewer  interpret  this  praise- 
worthy loyalty  to  truth  ?  '  It  is  difficult,'  he  says,  '  to 
deal  with  an  author  filled  with  a  medium  of  so  fickle 
and  vibratory  a  nature.  Were  we  to  take  the  trouble 
of  refuting  him,  he  might  tell  us,  "  my  opinion  is 
changed,  and  I  have  abandoned  that  hypothesis. 
But  here  is  another  for  you."'  We  demand  if  the 
world  of  science  which  Newton  once  illuminated  is  to 
be  as  changeable  in  its  modes  as  the  world  of  fashion, 
which  is  directed  by  the  nod  of  a  silly  woman  or  a 

pampered  fop  ? We  have  a  right  to  demand 

that  the  hypothesis  shall  be  so  consistent  with  itself  aa 
not  to  require  perpetual  mending  and  patching ;  that 
the  child  we  stoop  to  play  with  shall  be  tolerably 
healthy,  and  not  of  the  puny  and  sickly  nature  of  Dr. 
Young's  productions,  which  have  scarcely  stamina  to 
subsist  until  the  fruitful  parent  has  furnished  us  with  a 
new  litter,  to  make  way  for  which  he  knocks  on  the 


THE  WAVE  THEORY.  277 

head,  or  more  barbarously  exposes,  the  first.*  The  re- 
viewer taunts  Young  with  claiming  the  inheritance  of 
Newton's  queries,  *  vainly  imagining  that  he  fulfils  this 
destination  by  ringing  changes  on  these  hypotheses, 
arguing  from  them  as  if  they  were  experiments  or  de- 
monstrations, twisting  them  into  a  partial  coincidence 
with  the  clumsy  imaginations  of  his  own  brain,  and  pom- 
pously parading  what  Newton  left  as  hints  in  a  series 
of  propositions  with  all  the  affectation  of  system.' 

To  Brougham's  coarse  invective  Young  replied  in  a 
masterly  and  exhaustive  letter.  A  single  copy,  and  one 
only,  was  sold  by  its  publisher.  There  were  at  that 
time  in  the  ranks  of  science  no  minds  competent  to 
understand  the  controversy.  The  poison  worked  with- 
out an  antidote,  and,  for  thirteen  years,  Young  and  his 
researches  on  light  had  no  place  in  public  thought. 
His  discoveries  remained  absolutely  unnoticed  until  their 
re-discovery  byFresnet  lifted  the  pall  which  for  so  long 
a  time  had  been  thrown  over  this  splendid  genius. 

Young  lectured  for  two  years  at  the  Royal  Institu- 
tion, and  he  afterwards  threw  the  lectures  into  a  perma- 
nent form  in  a  quarto  volume  of  750  pages,  with  40 
plates,  and  nearly  600  figures  and  maps.  He  also  pro- 
duced at  the  same  time  a  second  volume  of  the  same 
magnitude,  embracing  his  optical  and  other  memoirs, 
and  a  most  elaborate  classed  catalogue  of  works  and 
papers,  accompanied  by  notes,  extracts,  and  calcula- 
tions. For  this  colossal  work  Young  was  to  receive 
1,000£.  His  publisher  however  became  bankrupt,  and 
he  never  touched  the  money.  His  lectures  constitute  a 
monument  of  Young's  power  almost  equal  to  that  of 
his  original  memoirs.  They  are  replete  with  profound 
reflections  and  suggestions.  In  his  eighth  lecture,  on 
'  Collision,'  the  term  energy,  now  in  such  constant  use. 


278  THOMAS  YOUNG 

was  first  introduced  and  defined.  By  it  he  was  able  to 
avoid,  and  enable  us  to  avoid,  the  confusion  which  had 
crept  into  scientific  literature  by  the  incautious  em- 
ployment of  the  word  force.  Further,  the  theory  now 
known  as  the  Young-Helmholtz  theory,  which  refers  all 
the  sensations  of  colour  to  three  primary  sensations — 
red,  green,  and  violet — was  clearly  enunciated  by  Young 
in  his  thirty-seventh  lecture,  on  *  Physical  Optics/  His 
views  of  the  nature  of  heat  were  original  and  correct. 
He  regarded  the  generation  of  heat  by  friction  as  an 
unanswerable  confutation  of  the  whole  doctrine  of 
material  caloric.  He  gave  appropriate  illustrations 
of  the  manner  in  which  he  supposed  the  molecules  of 
bodies  to  be  shaken  asunder  by  heat.  'All  these 
analogies,'  he  says,  'are  certainly  favourable  to  the 
opinion  of  the  vibratory  nature  of  heat,  which  has  been 
sufficiently  sanctioned  by  the  authority  of  the  greatest 
philosophers  of  past  times  and  by  the  most  sober 
reasoners  of  the  present.'  In  anticipation  of  Dr.  Weils, 
Young  had  observed  and  recorded  the  fact,  that  a  cloud 
passing  over  a  clear  sky  sometimes  causes  the  almost 
instantaneous  rise  of  a  thermometer  placed  upon  the 
ground.  The  cloud  he  assumed  acted  as  a  vesture  which 
threw  back  the  heat  of  the  earth.  Eadiant  heat  and  light 
are  here  placed  in  the  same  category.  William  Herschel 
had  already  shown  their  kinship,  by  proving  that  the 
most  powerful  rays  of  the  sun  were  entirely  non-lumi- 
nous. Subsequent  to  this,  the  polarisation  of  heat,  by 
Principal  James  Forbes,  rendered  yeoman  service  in  the 
propagation  of  the  true  faith. 

Young's  essay  on  the  '  Cohesion  of  Fluids '  is  to  be 
ranked  amongst  the  most  important  and  difficult  of  his 
labours.  It  embraced  his  views  and  treatment  of  the 
subject  of  capillary  attraction.  But  as  this  topic  is  to 
be  treated  here  next  week  by  a  spirit  kindred  to  that  of 


THE  WAVE  THEORY.  279 

Young  himself,1  I  may  be  excused  for  saying  nothing 
more  about  it.  The  essay  drew  Young  into  a  con- 
troversy with  the  illustrious  Laplace,  in  which  the 
Englishman  exhibited  that  scimitar-like  sharpness  of 
pen  which  more  than  once  had  drawn  him  into  con- 
troversy. 

Young  resigned  his  post  at  the  Koyal  Institution, 
believing  that  devotion  to  work  alien  lo  his  profession 
•would  be  sure  to  injure  his  prospects  as  a  physician. 
In  the  summer  of  1802  he  visited  Paris,  and  at  one 
of  the  meetings  of  the  Academy  was  introduced  to  the 
First  Consul.  In  March  1803,  he  became  M.B.  of  Cam- 
bridge— six  years  after  entering  the  University — while 
five  years  more  had  to  elapse  before  he  was  able  to  take 
the  degree  of  M.D.  In  June  1804,  he  married  Miss 
Eliza  Maxwell,  the  daughter  of  J.  P.  Maxwell,  Esq.,  of 
Trippendence,  near  Farnborough,  in  Kent. 

As  regards  medical  practice,  Young,  to  be  a  popular 
physician,  was  probably  too  cool  and  cautious  in  the 
examination  of  his  data,  and  trusted  too  little  to  the 
lancet  and  the  calomel  invoked  in  the  vigorous  prac- 
tice of  his  time.  After  a  somewhat  strenuous  contest 
he  was  appointed  Physician  to  St.  George's  Hospital. 
The  appointment  was  a  strong  proof  of  the  esteem 
in  which  he  was  held.  His  lectures,  however,  were  not 
so  well  attended  as  those  of  his  colleagues,  for  he  lacked 
the  warmth  and  pliancy  which  usually  commend  a 
lecturer  to  young  men.  Young's  medical  works,  em- 
bodying the  results  of  great  labour  and  research,  were 
received  with  high  consideration  and  esteem. 

By  the  force  of  his  sarcasm  and  the  glamour  of  his 
rhetoric,  Brougham  had  succeeded  in  inflicting  a  serious, 
if  not  an  irreparable,  wound  on  the  science  of  hi§ 

1  Sir  William  Thomson. 


280  THOMAS  YOUNG. 

country.  After  Young's  crushing  reply,  which  produced 
no  effect  whatever  upon  the  public,  the  author  of  that 
reply  was  practically  forgottten  as  a  factor  in  the  ad- 
vancement of  physical  optics.  But  science  has  always 
l>efore  her  the  stimulus  of  natural  problems  demanding 
solution,  and  after  a  temporary  lull  the  desire  to  Know 
more  of  the  nature  of  light  grew  in  force.  New  stars 
arose  in  France,  while  the  strenuous  industry  and  ex- 
perimental discoveries  of  Brewster  did  much  to  hold  us 
in  equipoise  with  the  Continent.  In  Paris,  Laplace, 
Malus,  Biot,  and  Arago  were  all  actively  engaged.  The 
first  three  proceeded  strictly  on  Newtonian  lines,  and 
by  the  memoir  of  Laplace  on  Double  Refraction  all 
antagonism  to  the  theory  of  emission  was  considered  to 
be  for  ever  overthrown.  In  the  '  Quarterly  Review,' 
Young  criticised  this  memoir  with  sagacity  and  power, 
and  his  criticism  remains  valid  to  the  present  time. 
In  accordance  with  the  principles  of  the  wave  theory 
Huyghens  had  given  a  solution  of  the  problem  of  double 
refraction  in  Iceland  spar.  The  solution  was  opposed 
to  that  of  Laplace.  Dr.  Wollaston,  a  man  of  the 
highest  scientific  culture  and  the  most  delicate  experi- 
mental skill,  subjected  the  theory  of  Huyghens  to  the 
severest  metrical  tests,  and  his  results  proved  entirely 
favourable  to  that  theory.  Wollaston,  however,  lacked 
the  boldness  which  would  have  made  him  a  commander 
in  those  days  of  scientific  strife.  He  saw  opposed  to 
him  the  names  of  Newton  and  Laplace,  and  in  the 
face  of  such  authority  he  shrank  from  closing  with  the 
conclusions  to  which  his  own  experiments  so  distinctly 
pointed. 

We  now  come  to  a  critical  point  in  the  fortunes  of 
the  wave  theory.  I  need  not  again  refer  to  the  differ- 
ence between  the  motion  of  a  wave  and  the  motions  of 
the  particles  which  constitute  a  wave.  A  wave  of 


THE  WAVE  THEORY.  281 

sound,  for  instance,  passing  through  the  air  of  this 
room  would  have  a  velocity  of  about  1,100  feet  a  second, 
while  the  particles  which  constitute  the  wave,  and  pro- 
pagate it  at  any  moment,  may  only  move  through  in- 
conceivably small  spaces  to  and  fro.  Now,  in  the  case 
of  sound,  this  to-and-fro  motion  occurs  in  the  direction 
in  which  the  sound  is  propagated,  and  a  little  reflection 
will  make  it  clear  that  no  matter  how  a  ray  of  sound, 
if  we  may  use  the  term,  is  received  upon  a  reflecting 
surface,  it  will  be  reflected  equally  all  round  as  long 
as  the  angle  inclosed  between  the  reflecting  surface  and 
the  ray  remains  unchanged.  In  other  words,  the  sound- 
ray  has  no  sides  and  no  preferences  as  regards  reflec- 
tion. Now  Malus  discovered  that  in  certain  conditions 
a  beam  of  light  shows  such  preferences.  When  caused 
to  impinge  upon  a  plane  glass  mirror,  placed  in  a  cer- 
tain position,  it  may  be  wholly  reflected  ;  whereas  when 
the  mirror  is  placed  in  the  rectangular  position  it  may 
not  be  reflected  at  all. 

Up  to  the  hour  when  this  discovery  was  made  by 
Malus  ligl't  had  been  supposed  to  be  propagated  through 
ether,  exactly  as  sound  is  propagated  through  air.  In 
other  words,  the  direction  in  which  the  particles  of 
ether  were  supposed  to  vibrate  to  and  fro  coincided 
with  tha*;  of  the  ray  of  light.  Those  who  had  pre- 
viously held  the  undulatory  theory  were  utterly  stag- 
gered by  this  new  revelation,  and  their  perplexity  was 
shared  by  Young.  He  was  for  a  time  unable  to  con- 
ceive of  a  medium  capable  of  propagating  the  impulses 
of  light  in  a  way  different  from  the  propagation  of  the 
impulses  of  sound.  To  ascribe  to  the  light-medium 
qualities  which  would  enable  it  to  differ  in  its  mecha- 
nical action  from  the  sound-medium  was  an  idea  too 
bold — 1  might  indeed  say  too  repugnant — to  the  scien- 
tific mind  to  be  seriously  entertained.  Yet,  deeply 


282  THOMAS  YOUNG. 

pondering  the  question,  Young  was  at  length  forced  to 
the  conclusion  that  the  vibrations  concerned  in  the  pro- 
pagation of  light  were  executed  at  right  angles  to  the 
direction  of  the  ray.  By  this  assumption  of  transverse 
vibrations,  which  removed  all  difficulty,  Young  also 
removed  the  ether  from  the  class  of  aeriform  bodies, 
and  endowed  it  with  the  properties  of  a  semi-solid. 

Fresnel's  memoir  on  Diffraction,  upon  which,  as 
already  stated,  Arago  had  reported,  initiated  a  lasting 
friendship  between  the  two  illustrious  Frenchmen. 
They  subsequently  worked  together.  Fresnel,  the 
more  adventurous  and  powerful  spirit  of  the  two,  came 
independently  to  the  same  conclusion  that  Young  had 
previously  enunciated.  But  so  daring  did  the  idea  of 
transverse  vibrations  appear  to  Arago — so  inconsistent 
with  every  mechanical  quality  which  he  could  venture 
to  assign  to  the  ether — that  he  refused  to  allow  his 
name  to  appear  in  conjunction  with  that  of  Fresnel  on 
the  title-page  of  the  memoir  in  which  this  heretical 
doctrine  was  broached.  Still,  the  heresy  has  held 
its  ground,  and  the  theory  of  transverse  vibrations, 
as  applied  to  the  luminiferous  ether,  is  now  univer- 
sally entertained. 

Fresnel  died  in  the  fortieth  year  of  his  age. 

Allow  me  to  wind  up  this  section  of  our  labours  by 
reference  to  a  German  estimate  of  Young's  genius. 
'  His  mind,'  says  Helmholtz,  '  was  one  of  the  most  pro- 
found that  the  world  has  ever  produced ;  but  he  had 
the  misfortune  of  being  too  much  in  advance  of  his  age. 
He  excited  the  wonder  of  his  contemporaries,  who,  how- 
ever, were  unable  to  rise  to  the  heights  at  which  his 
daring  intellect  was  accustomed  to  soar.  His  most  im- 
portant ideas  lay,  therefore,  buried  and  forgotten  in  the 
folios  of  the  Eoyal  Society,  until  a  new  generatiou 


THE  WAVE  THEORY.  283 

gradually  and  painfully  made  the  same  discoveries, 
proving  the  truth  of  his  assertions  and  the  exactness 
of  his  demonstrations.' 

NOTE  ON  ENERGY. 

The  passage  in  which  Young  introduces  and  defines 
the  terra  energy  is  so  remarkable  that  I  venture  to  re- 
produce it  here. 

'  The  term  energy  may  be  applied,  with  great  pro- 
priety, to  the  product  of  the  mass  or  weight  of  a  body 
into  the  square  of  the  number  expressing  its  velocity. 
Thus,  if  a  weight  of  one  ounce  moves  with  a  velocity  ot 
a  foot  in  a  second,  we  may  call  its  energy  1 ;  if  a  second 
body  of  two  ounces  have  a  velocity  of  three  feet  in  a 
second,  its  energy  will  be  twice  the  square  of  three,  or 
18.  This  product  has  been  denominated  the  living  or 
ascending  force,  since  the  height  of  the  body's  vertical 
ascent  is  in  proportion  to  it ;  and  some  have  considered 
it  as  the  true  measure  of  the  quantity  of  motion  ;  but 
although  this  opinion  has  been  very  universally  rejected, 
yet  the  force  thus  estimated  well  deserves  a  distinct 
denomination.  After  the  considerations  and  demonstra- 
tions which  have  been  premised  on  the  subject  of  forces, 
there  can  be  no  reasonable  doubt  with  respect  to  the 
true  measure  of  motion ;  nor  can  there  be  much  hesita- 
tion in  allowing  at  once  that  since  the  same  force,  con- 
tinued for  a  double  time,  is  known  to  produce  a  double 
velocity,  a  double  force  must  also  produce  a  double 
velocity  in  the  same  time.  Notwithstanding  the  simpli- 
city of  this  view  of  the  subject,  Leibnitz,  Smeaton,  and 
many  others,  have  chosen  to  estimate  the  force  of  a 
moving  body  by  the  product  of  its  mass  into  the  square 
of  its  velocity  ;  and  though  we  cannot  admit  that  this 
estimation  of  force  is  just,  yet  it  may  be  allowed  that 
many  of  the  sensible  effects  of  motion,  and  even  the 
19 


284  THOMAS  YOUNO. 

advantage  of  any  mechanical  power,  however  it  may  be 
employed,  are  usually  proportional  to  this  product,  or 
to  the  weight  of  the  moving  body,  multiplied  by  the 
height  from  which  it  must  have  fallen  in  order  to 
acquire  the  given  velocity.  Thus,  a  bullet  moving  with 
a  double  velocity  will  penetrate  to  a  quadruple  depth 
in  clay  or  tallow ;  a  ball  of  equal  size,  but  of  one-fourth 
of  the  weight,  moving  with  a  double  velocity,  will  pene- 
trate to  an  equal  depth ;  and,  with  a  smaller  quantity 
of  motion,  will  make  an  equal  excavation  in  a  shorter 
time.  This  appears  at  first  sight  somewhat  paradoxical ; 
but  on  the  other  hand  we  are  to  consider  the  resistance 
of  the  clay  or  tallow  as  a  uniformly  retarding  force,  and 
it  will  be  obvious  that  the  motion,  which  it  can  destroy 
in  a  short  time,  must  be  less  than  that  which  requires 
a  longer  time  for  its  destruction.  Thus  also  when  the 
resistance  opposed  by  any  body  to  a  force  tending  to 
break  it  is  to  be  overcome,  the  space  through  which  it 
may  be  bent  before  it  breaks  being  given,  as  well  as 
the  force  exerted  at  every  point  of  that  space,  the  power 
of  any  body  to  break  it  is  proportional  to  the  energy  of 
its  motion,  or  to  its  weight  multiplied  by  the  square  of 
its  velocity.' 

[The  foregoing  Exsay  not  prepared  with  the  tiem  of  giving  the 
members  of  the  Royal  Institution  some  notion  of  a  man  regarding  whom 
many  of  them  hnew  but  little.  I  tried  at  the  same  time  to  dram  -up  a 
brief  account  of  Young's  labours  on  the  Hieroglyphics  of  Egypt.  TJie 
subject  lay  far  apart  from  my  usual  studies,  and  this  fact,  coupled 
with  my  anxiety  to  avoid  offence  in  dealing  n-ith  the  relationship  of 
Young  and  Champollion,  threw  upon  me  an  amount  of  work  to  nhich 
my  health  at  the  time  nan  unequal.  Though  not  included  in  tie 
A'ldress  clelirered  to  the  members,  this  account  n-as  published  in  the 
•  Proceedings  of  the  Royal  Institution.'  Despite  its  inadequacy  to 
give  any  just  notion  of  the  magnitude  of  Young's  labours  in,  this  par- 
ticular field,  the  record  of  hi*  achievements  mill  be  rendered  vwrt 
tomplt-ie  by  itt  introduction  here.] 


HIEROGLYPHICAL  RESEARCHES.  285 


HlEROGLTPHICAL   RESEABCHES. 

Young's  capacity  and  acquirements  in  regard  to 
languages  have  been  already  glanced  at.  As  a  classical 
scholar  his  reputation  was  very  high.  His  Greek  calli- 
graphy was  held  to  vie  in  elegance  with  that  of  Person.  A 
man  so  rounded  in  his  culture  could  hardly  be  said  to  have 
an  intellectual  bent ;  but  if  he  had  one,  the  examina- 
tion and  e'ucidation  of  ancient  manuscripts  must  have 
fallen  in  with  it.  It  is  quite  possible,  however,  that, 
had  he  not  been  disheartened  by  the  apparent  success 
of  Brougham,  he  would  have  clung  more  steadfastly  to 
physical  science.  However  this  may  be,  we  now  find 
him  in  a  new  field.  In  October  1752  the  first  rolls  of 
the  papyri  of  Herculaneum,  wearing  the  aspect  of 
blackened  roots,  were  discovered  in  what  appeared  to  be 
the  library  of  a  palace  near  Portici.  They  had  been 
covered  to  a  depth  of  120  feet  with  the  mixed  ashes, 
sand,  and  lava  of  Vesuvius.  The  inscriptions  were  for 
the  most  part  written  in  Greek,  but  some  of  them  were 
in  Latin.  The  leaves  were  carbonised  and  hard,  being 
glued  together  by  heat  to  an  almost  homogeneous  mass. 
Learned  Italians  had  devoted  great  labour  and  ingenuity 
to  the  separating  of  the  leaves  and  the  deciphering  of 
the  inscriptions.  To  the  credit  of  the  Prince  of  Wales, 
afterwards  George  IV.,  let  it  be  recorded  that  he 
manifested  from  the  first  an  enlightened,  liberal,  and 
truly  practical  interest  in  these  researches.  He  wrote 
to  the  Neapolitan  Government,  offering  to  defray  all 
the  expenses  of  unrolling  and  deciphering  the  papyri ; 
and  he  sent  out  Mr.  Hayter,  a  classical  scholar  of 
repute,  to  act  as  co-director  with  Rossini  in  the  super- 
intendence of  the  work.  Mr.  Hayter  appears  to  have 
been  unequal  to  the  task  committed  to  him.  His  trans- 


286  THOMAS  YOUNO. 

lations  were  defective ;  the  gaps  were  serious  and 
numerous ;  and  he  finally  abandoned  the  manuscripts 
when  he  fled  from  Naples,  with  the  royal  family,  on 
the  French  invasion  in  1806.  Some  of  the  rolls,  which 
had  been  presented  to  the  Prince  of  Wales,  were  com- 
mitted to  the  care  of  the  Koyal  Society,  and  placed  by 
the  Society  in  the  hands  of  Dr.  Young.  He  spent  many 
months  in  devising  and  applying  means  for  the  opening 
of  the  leaves ;  and  though  only  partially  successful  in 
this  respect,1  he  was  able  to  correct  many  important 
errors,  and  to  fill  many  serious  gaps  in  the  work  of  his 
predecessors. 

The  'Quarterly  Review'  was  established  in  1809, 
and  Young  was  intimate  with  its  leading  contributors. 
One  of  these,  George  Ellis,  '  a  man  of  ardent  affections,' 
had  resented,  almost  as  personal  to  himself,  the  attacks 
on  Young  in  the  '  Edinburgh  Review,'  and  Young's  pen 
was  soon  invoked  to  enrich  and  adorn  the  pages  of  its 
rival.  A  great  work,  the  '  Herculanensia,'  on  the  ancient 
condition  of  Herculaneum  and  its  neighbourhood,  had 
been  published.  The  review  of  this  work  was  com- 
mitted to  Young,  and  his  article  upon  it,  embodying 
his  own  views  and  researches,  was  published  in  1810. 
'The  appearance  of  the  article,'  says  Peacock,  'equally 
remarkable  for  its  critical  acuteness  and  vigorous  writ- 
ing, at  once  placed  its  author,  in  the  estimation  of  the 
public,  in  the  first  class  of  the  scholars  of  the  age.' 
Gifford,  the  editor  of  the  '  Quarterly,'  described  the 
article  as  '  certainly  beyond  all  praise.'  Ellis,  at  the 
bame  time,  wrote  thus  to  Young  : — '  It  is  a  consolation 
to  know  that  Brougham,  who  took  advantage  of  the 
growing  circulation  of  the  '  Edinburgh  Review  '  to  did- 

1  Davy  afterwards  tried  his  hand  upon  the  rolls,  with  imperfect 
luccesa. 


HIEROGLYPHICAL  RESEARCHES.  287 

seminate  his  vile  abuse  of  you  ;  and  Jeffrey,  who  per- 
mitted him  to  do  so,  should  be  condemned  to  hear  your 
praises  upon  all  sides.'  The  tide  had  clearly  turned  in 
Young's  favour,  even  prior  to  his  final  and  triumphant 
vindication  by  Fresnel.  From  this  time  forward  in- 
scriptions of  all  kinds  were  sent  to  Young  for  discussion 
or  interpretation.  They  were  found  in  numbers  among 
his  papery  after  his  death.1 

It  was  a  mind  thus  endowed  and  disciplined  that 
now  turned  to  the  formidable  but  fascinating  task  of 
deciphering  the  hieroglyphics  of  Egypt.  An  adum- 
bration of  his  researches,  which  must,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, be  weak  and  faint,  I  will  endeavour  to  bring 
before  you. 

The  famous  Rosetta  stone  was  discovered  by  the 
French  in  Egypt  in  1799.  It  bore  three  inscriptions  : 

1  '  In  the  Appendix,'  says  Young's  biographer,  '  to  Captain 
Light's  Travels  in  Egypt,  Nubia,  Palestine,  and  Cyprus,  he  furnished 
translations  and  restorations  of  several  Greek  inscriptions;  and  when 
]  '.arrow  gave  an  account  in  the  Quarterly  Review  of  recent  researches 
in  Egypt,  more  especially  those  of  Caviglia  on  the  Great  Sphinx,  it 
\v;is  from  Young  that  he  obtained  the  restoration  of  the  inscription 
on  the  second  digit  of  the  great  paw.'  In  the  third  volume  of  Young's 
Works,  this  inscription,  taken  from  the  nineteenth  volume  of  the 
Quarterly  Review,  is  given,  with  translations  into  modern  Greek, 
Latin,  and  English.  The  last-mentioned  runs  thus : — 

•  Thy  form  stupendous  here  the  gods  have  placed, 

Sparing  each  spot  of  harvest-bearing  land ; 
A  nd  with  this  mighty  work  of  art  have  graced 

A  rocky  isle,  encumber'd  once  with  sand  ; 

And  near  the  Pyramids  have  bid  thee  stand  : 
Not  that  fierce  Sphinx  that  Thebes  erewhile  laid  waste, 

But  great  Latona's  servant  mild  and  bland ; 
Watching  that  prince  beloved  who  fills  the  throno 
Of  Egypt's  plains,  and  calls  the  Nile  his  own. 
That  heavenly  monarch  [who  his  foes  defies], 
Like  Vulcan  powerful  [and  like  Pallas  wisej.1 


288  THOMAS  YOUNG. 

the  first,  Hieroglyphical  or  sacred;  the  second,  En- 
chorial ! — a  name  given  by  Young  to  the  common  lan- 
guage employed  by  the  Egyptians  in  the  time  of  the 
Ptolemies  ;  and  the  third,  Greek.  At  the  end  are  given 
the  following  directions  : — '  What  is  here  decreed  shall 
be  engraved  on  a  block  of  hard  stone,  in  sacred,  in 
native,  and  in  Greek  characters,  and  placed  in  each 
temple  of  the  first  and  second  and  third  gods.'  All 
three  inscriptions  were  more  or  less  mutilated  and 
effaced  when  the  stone  was  discovered.  Person  and 
Heyne  had,  however,  succeeded  in  almost  completely 
restoring  the  Greek  one.  It  had  been  a  custom  with 
Young  to  pay  an  annual  visit  to  "Worthing,  and  to 
pursue  there  for  a  portion  of  the  year  his  practice  as 
a  physician.  The  Society  of  Antiquaries  had  caused 
copies  of  the  three  inscriptions  of  the  Kosetta  stone  to 
be  made  and  published.  In  the  summer  of  1814 
Young  took  all  of  them  to  Worthing,  where  he  sub- 
jected them  to  a  severe  comparative  examination. 

Earon  Sylvestre  de  Sacy,  an  eminent  Orientalist, 
had  discovered  in  the  native  Egyptian  certain  groups 
of  characters  answering  to  proper  names,  while  Aker- 
blad,  a  profound  Coptic  scholar,  had  not  only  added  to 
the  number,  but  attempted  to  establish  an  alphabet 
answering  to  the  native  Egyptian  inscription.  Young 
took  up  the  researches  of  these  distinguished  men  as 
far  as  they  could  be  relied  on.  Assuming  all  three  in- 
scriptions to  express  the  same  decree,  one  of  them  being 
in  a  language  known  to  scholars,  it  was  inferred  by 
Young  that  a  strict  comparison  of  line  with  line,  word 
with  word,  and  character  with  character,  would  lead 
him  by  the  sure  method  of  science  from  the  known  to 

1  Called  in  the  Greek  '  ENCHOKIA  GRAMMATA,'  or  letters  of  the 
country.  Young  deprecates  the  introduction,  afterwards,  by  Cham- 
pollion,  of  the  term  '  DEMOTIC,' or  popular. 


HIEROGLYPKLCAL  KESEAECHE8.  289 

the  unknown.  He  rapidly  passed  his  predecessors.  De 
Sacy  had  determined  three  proper  names  in  the  Egyp- 
tian; Akerblad  nine  others,  and  five  or  six  Coptic- 
words  ;  while  Young,  soon  after,  detected  the  rudiments 
of  fifty  or  sixty  Coptic  words,  which,  however,  formed 
but  a  very  small  fraction  of  the  whole  inscription. 

Here  an  unexpected  stumbling-block  was  en- 
countered. The  effort  of  Akerblad  to  reduce  the  whole 
Enchorial  inscription  to  Coptic  had  failed,1  and  it  soon 
became  evident  to  Young  that  every  such  attempt  must 
of  necessity  fail.  His  conviction  and  its  grounds  are 
first  mentioned  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  G-urney,  written  in 
August  1814.  'I  doubt,'  he  writes,  'if  it  will  be  ever 
possible  to  reduce  much  more  of  it  to  Coptic,  especially 
as  I  have  fully  ascertained  that  some  of  the  characters 
are  hieroglyphics.'  As  bearing  upon  the  derivative 
origin  of  the  Enchorial  inscription,  the  discovery  here 
announced  is  obviously  of  the  highest  importance. 
Young  continues  :  '  I  have,  however,  made  out  the  sense 
of  the  whole  sufficiently  for  my  purpose,  and,  by  means 
of  variations  from  the  Greek,  I  have  been  able  to  effect 
a  comparison  with  the  hieroglyphics  which  it  would  have 
been  impossible  to  do  satisfactorily  without  this  inter- 
mediate step.'  In  a  letter  to  the  Archduke  John  of 
Austria,  dated  August  2,  1816,  Young  announced  that 
he  had  *now  fully  demonstrated  the  hieroglyphical 
origin '  of  the  Enchorial  inscription.2 

1  •  Notwithstanding  this  failure,  his  name,' says  Peacock, '  should 
ever  be  held  in  honour  as  one  of  the  founders  of  our  knowledge  of 
Egyptian  literature,  to  the  investigation  of  which  he  brought  no 
Buiall  amount  of  patient  labour  and  philological  learning.' 

*  « The  same  discovery,' says  the  editor  of  the  third  volume  of 
Young's  Works,  '  was  announced  by  M.  Champollion,  as  his  own,  in 
his  memoir,  De  VEcrlture  Hieratique  det  Anciens  JL'yyjrienft,  pub- 

lished  at  Grenoble  in  1821 This  memoir  contained  several 

plates  in  which  the  hieroglyphic  and  hieratic  characters  are  corn- 


290  THOMAS  YOUNG. 

4 1  had  thought  it  necessary,'  says  Young,  in  an 
essay  written  to  clear  the  air  on  this  and  various  other 
points  some  years  afterwards,  c  to  make  myself  in  some 
measure  familiar  with  the  remains  of  the  old  Egyptian 
language  as  they  are  preserved  in  the  Coptic  and  The- 
baic  versions  of  the  Scriptures ;  and  I  had  hoped,  with 
the  assistance  of  this  knowledge,  to  be  able  to  find  an 
alphabet  which  would  enable  me  to  read  the  Enchorial 
inscription,  at  least  into  a  kindred  dialect.  .  But  in  the 
progress  of  the  investigation  'I  had  gradually  been  com- 
pelled to  abandon  this  expectation,  and  to  admit  the 
conviction  that  no  such  alphabet  would  ever  be  dis- 
covered, because  it  had  never  been  in  existence.  I  was 
led  to  this  conclusion,  not  only  by  the  un tractable  nature 
of  the  inscription  itself — which  might  have  depended  on 
my  own  want  of  information  and  address — but  still  more 
decidedly  by  the  manifest  occurrence  of  a  multitude  of 
characters  which  were  obviously  imperfect  imitations 
of  the  more  intelligible  pictures  that  were  observable 
among  the  distinct  hieroglyphics  of  the  first  inscrip- 
tion, such  as  a  priest,  a  statue,  a  mattock,  or  plough, 
which  were  evidently,  in  their  primitive  state,  delinea- 
tions of  the  objects  intended  to  be  denoted  by  them, 
and  which  were,  as  evidently,  introduced  among  the 
Enchorial  characters.' 

Young,  as  we  have  seen,  had  begun  his  labours  on 

pared,  on  the  same  plan  as  Dr.  Young's  specimens  in  the  Encycl*- 
pffdia  Britannica,  published  in  1819.  He  sent  a  copy  of  them  to 
Di  Young,  but  withheld  the  letterpress.  Dr.  Young  accordingly 
remained  for  sever.il  years  under  the  impression  that  this  work  had 
been  published  at  a  much  earlier  period.  Writing  to  Sir  Williara 
Gell  in  1827  in  reference  to  this  point,  Young  remarks :'  I  never 
knew  till  now  how  much  later  his  publication  was,  for  he  gave  it  to 
me  without  the  text."  The  publication  was  Champollion's  Com- 
parative Table  of  Hieroglyphics,  '  containing,'  says  Young,  '  what  1 
had  published  in  1816,'  five  years  earlier. 


niEROGLYPUICAL  RESEAECHES.  291 

the  Rosetta  stone  in  May  1814.  In  the  month  of 
August  he  was  able  to  announce  to  Mr.  Grurney  his 
discovery  that  some  of  the  Enchorial  characters  were 
hieroglyphics.  Prior  to  Young,  no  human  being  had 
dreamt  of  the  transfer  of  the  characters  of  the  first 
inscription  to  the  second.  The  first  was  pictural  and 
symbolic ;  the  second,  to  all  appearance,  a  purely  alpha- 
betical running- hand.  It  had  always  been  regarded  as 
such.  By  means  of  the  funeral  papyri  Young  still 
further  established  the  relationship  between  the  first 
and  second  inscriptions.  In  1816  he  obtained  from 
Mr. William  Hamilton  a  loan  of  the  noble  work  entitled 
'  Description  de  1'Egypte,'  in  which  were  carefully  pub- 
lished several  of  the  papyrus  manuscripts.  Many  of  the 
inscriptions  dealt  with  the  same  text,  and  by  comparing 
them  one  with  another  Young  was  able  to  trace  the 
gradual  departure  from  the  original  hieroglyphic  charac- 
ters. Probably  with  a  view  to  more  rapid  writing,  these 
had  passed  through  various  phases  of  degradation,  until 
they  reached  the  stage  corresponding  to  the  Enchorial 
inscription  of  the  Eosetta  stone,  '  which,'  says  Young, 
'resembled  in  its  general  appearance  the  most  un- 
picturesque  of  these  manuscripts.'  Long  before  the 
time  of  Young,  learned  men  had  tried  their  hands  on 
the  Rosetta  characters,  but  no  relationship  like  that 
here  indicated  had  ever  been  discerned. 

Pre-eminent  among  the  Egyptologists  of  that  time 
was  the  celebrated  Champollion,  librarian  at  Grenoble. 
In  his  very  first  reference  to  Champollion,  Dean 
Peacock  speaks  thus  of  the  illustrious  Frenchman : — 
«  He  had  made  the  history,  the  topography,  and  anti- 
quities of  Egypt,  as  well  as  the  Coptic  language  and  its 
kindred  dialects,  the  study  of  his  life,  and  he  started 
therefore  upon  this  inquiry  with  advantages  that  prob- 


292  THOMAS  YOUNG. 

ably  no  other  person  possessed ;  and  no  one  who  i» 
acquainted  with  his  later  writings  can  call  in  doubt  his 
extraordinary  sagacity  in  bringing  to  bear  upon  every 
subject  connected  with  it,  not  merely  the  most  appo- 
site, but  also  the  most  remote,  and  sometimes  the  most 
unexpected,  illustrations.'  Thus  equipped,  however, 
Champollion  made  next  to  no  progress  before  the  ad- 
vent of  Young.  'With  the  exception,'  says  Peacock, 
*  of  the  identification  of  a  few  additional  Coptic  words, 
very  ingeniously  elicited  from  the  Egyptian  text,  he 
made  no  important  advance  on  what  had  already  been 
done  by  Akerblad.  Like  him,  also,  he  abandoned  the 
task  of  identifying  the  hieroglyphical  inscription,  or 
portions  of  it,  with  those  corresponding  to  them  in  the 
Egyptian  or  Greek  text.,  as  altogether  hopeless,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  very  extensive  mutilations  which  it 
had  undergone.' 

Young,  however,  had  determined  about  ninety  or 
one  hundred  characters  of  the  mutilated  hieroglyphic 
inscription  (the  funeral  papyri  enabled  him  afterwards 
to  more  than  double  the  number),  and  these  sufficed 
to  prove, '  first,  that  many  simple  objects  were  repre- 
sented by  their  actual  delineations ;  secondly,  that 
many  other  objects,  represented  graphically,  were  used 
in  a  figurative  sense  only,  while  a  great  number  of  the 
symbols,  in  frequent  use,  could  be  considered  as  the 
pictures  of  no  existing  objects  whatever ;  thirdly,  that 
a  dual  was  denoted  by  a  repetition  of  the  character, 
but  that  three  characters  of  the  same  kind  following 
e.ich  other  implied  an  indefinite  plurality,  mare  com- 
pendiously represented  by  three  lines  or  bars  attached 
to  a  single  character ;  fourthly,  that  definite  numbers 
were  expressed  by  dashes  for  units,  and  arches,  either 
round  or  square,  for  tens ;  fifthly,  that  all  hieroglyphic 
inscriptions  were  read  from  front  to  rear,  as  the  ob- 


HIEKOGLYPHICAL  KESEAHCHES.  293 

jects  naturally  follow  each  other ;  sixthly,  that  proper 
names  were  included  by  the  oval  ring,  or  border,  or 
cartouche  ; l  and  seventhly,  that  the  name  of  Ptolemy 
alone  existed  on  this  pillar,  having  only  been  completely 
identified  by  help  of  the  analysis  of  the  Enchorial  in- 
scription. And,'  adds  Young,  *  as  far  as  I  have  ever 
heard  or  read,  not  one  of  these  particulars  had  ever 
been  established  and  placed  on  record  by  any  other 
person,  dead  or  alive.' 

No  man  was  a  better  judge  of  intellectual  labour 
than  Dean  Peacock.  The  whole  of  Young's  writings, 
preparatory  and  otherwise,  were  before  him  when  he 
wrote ;  and  he  states  emphatically,  that  it  is  impos- 
sible to  estimate,  either  the  vast  extent  to  which  Dr. 
Young  had  carried  his  hieroglyphical  investigations,  or 
the  progress  which  he  had  made  in  them,  without  an 
inspection  of  these  manuscripts.  In  reference  to  an 
article  entitled  *  Egypt,'  written  by  Young  in  1818, 
and  published  in  the  '  Encyclopaedia  Britannica '  for 
1819,  a  writer  in  the  'Edinburgh  Keview'  for  1826 
delivers  the  following  weighty  opinion :  '  We  do 
not  hesitate  to  pronounce  this  article  the  greatest 
effort  of  scholarship  and  ingenuity  of  which  modern 
literature  can  boast.'  Even  to  an  outsider  it  offers 
proof  of  astonishing  learning  and  research.  Still, 
Peacock  assures  us  that  this  publication  of  1819  could 
hardly  be  considered  more  than  a  popular  and  super- 
ficial sketch  of  the  vast  mass  of  materials  on  which  it 
was  founded. 

Young  was  limited  to  what  Peacock  here  calls  '  a 
popular  and  superficial  sketch'  by  the  fact  that  the 

1  Young's  editor  adds  here  :  '  The  discovery  was  long  afterwards 
made  by  Champollion  that  the  cartouches  were  confined  to  tha 
names  of  royal  personages.' 


294  THOMAS  YOUNO. 

article  in  the  '  Encyclopaedia  Britannica '  was  written 
for  ordinary  readers,  rather  than  for  critics  or  learned 
men.  In  this  article,  however,  we  are  allowed  a 
glimpse  of  Young's  mode  of  collating  and  comparing 
the  different  inscriptions.  He  looks  at  the  Enchorial 
inscription,  and  notices  certain  recurrent  groups  of 
characters ;  he  looks  at  the  Greek  inscription,  and 
finds  there  words  with  the  same,  or  approximately  the 
same,  periods  of  recurrence.  Thus,  '  a  small  group  of 
characters  occurring  very  often,  in  almost  every  line, 
might  be  either  some  termination,  or  some  very  com- 
mon particle ;  it  must  therefore  be  reserved  till  it  is 
found  in  some  decisive  situation,  after  some  other  words 
have  been  identified,  and  it  will  then  easily  be  shown 
to  mean  and.  The  next  remarkable  collection  of 
characters  is  repeated  twenty-nine  or  thirty  times  in 
the  Enchorial  inscription;  and  we  find  nothing  that 
occurs  so  often  in  the  Greek,  except  the  word  ki.ng.  .  .  . 
A  fourth  assemblage  of  characters  is  found  fourteen 
times  in  the  Enchorial  inscription,  agreeing  sufficiently 
well  in  frequency  with  the  name  of  Ptolemy.  .  .  . 
By  a  similar  comparison,  the  name  of  Egypt  is  iden- 
tified. .  .  .  Having  thus,'  says  Young,  'obtained  a 
sufficient  number  of  common  points  of  subdivision,  we 
next  proceed  to  write  the  Greek  text  over  the  Encho- 
rial, in  such  a  manner  that  the  passages  ascertained 
may  all  coincide  as  nearly  as  possible ;  and  it  is  ob- 
vious that  the  intermediate  parts  of  each  inscription 
will  then  stand  very  near  to  the  corresponding  passages 
of  the  other.  .  .  .  By  pursuing  the  comparison  of 
the  inscriptions  thus  arranged,  we  ultimately  discover 
the  signification  of  the  greater  part  of  the  individual 
Enchorial  words.' 

Having   thus  compared  the  Greek  text  with  the 
Enchorial,  Young  next  proceeded  to  compare  the  En/« 


HIEROGLYPHICAL  RESEARCHES.       295 

chorial  with  the  hieroglyphical.  About  half  the  lines 
of  the  latter  were  obliterated,  and  the  rest  were  con- 
siderably defaced.  Towards  the  ends,  however,  both 
inscriptions  were  fairly  well  preserved;  and  these  were 
the  portions  subjected  to  the  scrutiny  of  Young. 
Making  allowance  for  the  differences  of  space  occupied 
by  the  two  inscriptions,  and  measuring  from  the  final 
words  of  the  inscription  proportional  distances,  de- 
termined by  the  Enchorial  characters  for  God,  King, 
Priest  and  Shrine,  the  meaning  of  which  had  been 
well  established,  Young  sought  at  the  places  indicated 
by  these  measurements  for  the  corresponding  hiero- 
glyphics. He  soon  found  that  Shrine  and  Priest  were 
denoted  by  pictures  of  the  things  themselves.  The 
other  terms,  God  and  King,  were  still  more  easily 
ascertained,  from  their  situation  near  the  name  of 
Ptolemy.  Having  thus  fixed  his  points  of  orientation, 
Young  placed  them  side  by  side,  and  subjected  the 
characters  lying  between  them  to  a  searching  com- 
parison. He  offers  in  his  article  of  1819  the  last  line 
of  the  sacred  characters,  with  the  corresponding  parts 
of  the  other  inscriptions,  as  a  4  fair  specimen  of  the 
result  that  has  been  attained  from  these  operations.' 

Up  to  the  time  of  which  we  now  speak,  although 
profoundly  learned  men  had  attempted  to  decipher  the 
funeral  papyri  of  Egypt,  if  we  omit  the  labours  of 
Young,  very  little  progress  had  been  made  in  this 
direction  ;  while  in  regard  to  the  decipherment  of  the 
hieroglyphics  nothing  had  been  done. 

A  vast  extension  of  our  knowledge  of  Egyptian 
writing  is  to  be  ascribed  to  the  following  accident. 
An  Italian  named  Cassati  had  brought  to  Paris  several 
manuscripts  from  Upper  Egypt.  One  was  written  ex- 
actly in  the  Enchorial  character  of  the  second  inscrip- 


296  THOMAS  YOUNG. 

tion  on  the  Rosetta  stone.  It  was  a  deed  of  sale,  and 
on  the  hack  of  the  manuscript  was  an  endorsement 
in  Greek.  When  in  Paris,  Young  had  received  from 
Champollion  a  tracing  of  the  Enchorial  deed,  hut  not 
of  the  Greek  endorsement.  About  the  same  time, 
Mr.  Grey,  an  English  traveller,  brought  to  England  a 
number  of  manuscripts,  which  he  placed  in  the  hands 
of  Dr.  Young.  One  of  them  was  written  entirely  in 
Greek,  and  Young  immediately  perceived  that  it  was 
a  perfect  copy  of  the  Enchorial  deed  of  sale.  He 
wrote  immediately  to  Champollion,  informing  him  of 
the  fact,  and  begging  him  to  send  a  copy  of  the  Greek 
endorsement.  Champollion  did  not  comply  with  this 
request,  but  his  countryman,  Raonl  Rochette,  courteously 
and  promptly  responded  to  Young's  application,  and  sent 
him  a  correct  copy  of  the  whole  Cassati  manuscript. 

The  possession  of  the  Greek  translation  was  of 
course  an  immense  help  to  Young  in  his  efforts  to 
decipher  the  Enchorial  deed,  on  which  he  was  at  this 
very  time  engaged.  '  I  could  not,'  he  says,  'but  con- 
clude that  a  most  extraordinary  chance  had  brought 
into  my  possession  a  document  which  was  not  very 
likely,  in  the  first  place,  ever  to  have  existed,  still  less 
to  have  been  preserved  uninjured  for  my  information 
through  a  period  of  near  two  thousand  years.  But 
that  this  very  extraordinary  translation  should  havo 
been  brought  safely  to  Europe,  to  England,  and  to  me, 
at  the  very  moment  when  it  was  most  of  all  desirable 
to  me  to  possess  it,  as  the  illustration  of  an  original 
which  I  was  then  studying,  but  without  any  reasonable 
hoj>e  of  being  able  to  fully  comprehend  it, —  this  com- 
Hnation  would  in  other  times  have  been  considered  as 
affording  evidence  of  my  having  become  an  Egyptian 
sorcerer.' 

Grey's  manuscript  related,  not  to  the  sale  of  a  house 


HIEROGLYPHICAL  RESEARCHES.  297 

or  field,  but  to  portions  of  the  collections  and  offer- 
ings made  from  time  to  time  for  the  benefit  of  a 
certain  number  of  mummies.  The  persons  of  whom 
the  mummies  were  the  remains  were  described  at  length 
in  bad  Greek ;  but  though  bad,  a  comparison  between 
it  and  the  Enchorial  writing  gave  important  informa- 
tion regarding  the  orthography  of  ancient  Egypt.  Mr. 
Grey's  collection  contained  three  other  similar  deeds, 
£.11  written  in  the  Enchorial  character  of  the  Rosetta 
stone,  and  endorsed  with  the  Greek  registry.  The 
dates  of  these  documents  closely  corresponded  with  that 
of  the  Cassati  manuscript,  which  was  146  years  before 
Christ.  They  refer  to  the  sale  of  land,  the  boundaries 
of  which  were  very  clearly  defined.1  In  those  days,  as 
we  know,  the  Egyptians  were  the  best  land-surveyors 
in  the  world.  The  comparison  of  these  documents 
formed,  as  might  be  expected,  an  epoch  in  the  history 
of  Egyptian  literature. 

1  And  the  persons  concerned  were  equally  well  defined.  In  this 
respect  the  Egyptians  might  vie  with  the  writers  of  Continental 
passports.  The  following  is  a  translation  of  the  famous  papyrus  of 
Anastasy,  recording  a  deed  of  sale  : — •  There  was  sold  by  Pamonthes, 
aged  about  forty-five,  of  middle  size,  dark  complexion,  and  hand- 
some fignre,  bald,  round  faced,  and  straight  nosed  ;  by  Snachomnens, 
aged  about  twenty,  of  middle  size,  sallow  complexion,  likewise 
round  faced  and  straight  nosed  ;  and  by  Semmuthis  Persinei,  aged 
about  twenty-two,  of  middle  size,  sallow  complexion,  round  faced, 
flat  nosed,  and  of  quiet  demeanour ;  and  by  Tathlyt  Persinei,  aged 
alx>nt  thirty,  of  middle  size,  sallow  complexion,  round  face,  and 
straight  nose  with  their  principal  Pamonthes  a  party  in  the  sale; 
the  four  being  of  the  children  of  Petepsais  of  the  leather-cutters 
ot  the  Memnonia ;  out  of  the  piece  of  level  ground  which  belongs 
to  them  in  the  southern  part  of  the  Memnonia,  8,000  cubits  of 
open  field.  ...  It  was  bought  by  Nechntes  the  less,  the  son  of 
Asos,  aged  about  forty,  of  middle  size,  sallow  complexion,  cheerful 
countenance,  long  face,  and  straight  nose,  with  a  scar  upon  the 
middle  of  his  forehead,  for  C01  pieces  of  brass,  the  sellers  standing 
as  brokers,  and  as  securities  for  the  validity  of  the  sale.  It  wai 
accepted  by  Nechutes  the  purchaser. 


208  THOMAS  YOUNG. 

We  now  approach  a  period  of  stormy  discussion 
regarding  the  claims  of  different  discoverers.  And  as  the 
tempest  raged  chiefly  round  Young  and  Champollion, 
it  is  desirable  to  fix  with  precision,  if  that  be  possible, 
the  position  of  the  learned  Frenchman  before  he  came 
into  contact  with  Young.  This  a  work  published  by 
Champollion  at  Grenoble  in  1821  enables  us  to  do.  After 
speaking  of  the  notions  previously  entertained  regard- 
ing the  hieroglyphical  and  epistolographic  characters 
of  the  Egyptians,  and  of  the  opinion,  universally  dif- 
fused, that  the  Egyptian  manuscripts,  like  those  of  to- 
day, are  alphabetical,  the  author  states  his  case  thus: — 
4  Une  longue  etude,  et  surtout  une  comparaison  atten- 
tive des  textes  hieroglyphiques  avec  ceux  de  la  seconde 
espece,  regardes  comme  alphabetiques,  nous  ont  con- 
duit a  une  conclusion  contraire. 

II  resulte,  en  effet,  de  nos  rapprochements : — 

1°  Que  1'ecriture  des  manuscrits  egyptiens  de 
la  seconde  espece  (1'hieratique)  n'est  point  alphabe- 
tique ; 

2°  Qae  ce  second  systeme  n'est  qu'une  simple 
modification  du  systeme  hieroglyphique,  et  n'en  differs 
uniquement  que  par  la  forme  des  signes ; 

3°  Que  cette  seconde  espece  d'ecriture  est  1'hiera- 
tique  des  auteurs  grecs,  et  doit  etre  regardee  comme 
une  tachygraphie  hieroglyphique ; 

4°  Enfin,  que  les  caracteres  hieratiques  sont  DES 

SIGNES  DB  CHOSES,  ET  NON  DES  SIGNES  DE  SONS.' 

There  is  no  mention  here  of  the  name  of  Young, 
though  he  had,  many  years  previously,  made  known  to 
the  world,  as  the  result  of  his  own  researches,  the  first, 
second,  and  third  of  these  propositions.  Immediately 
after  the  publication  of  this  work  in  1821,  Champollion 
became  acquainted  with  the  '  popular  and  superficial 
sketch ' — in  reality,  the  transcendently  able  article  of 


HIEKOGLYPHICAL  RESEARCHES.  299 

Young — published  in  the  '  Encyclopaedia  Britanoica ' 
for  1819. 

Peacock's  analysis  of  what  next  occurred  is  not 
agreeable  reading.  Champollion's  memoir  of  1821 
was  rapidly  suppressed,  and  soon  became  so  scarce  that 
it  has  been  passed  over  by  almost  every  author  who 
has  written  on  the  subject.  In  the  following  year 
Champollion  addressed  a  letter  to  M.  Dacier,  in  which, 
to  use  the  language  of  Peacock,  we  suddenly  find  him 
pushed  forward  into  the  inmost  recesses  of  the  sanc- 
tuary, reached  by  Young  five  years  before.  The  plates, 
moreover,  of  the  suppressed  memoir  were  circulated, 
without  dates  and  without  letterpress.  A  copy  of  these 
plates  was  given  by  Champollion  to  Young,  who  was 
left  in  entire  ignorance  of  the  date  of  publication. 
*  The  suppression  of  a  work,'  writes  Peacock,  in  strong 
reproof,  '  expressing  opinions  which  its  author  has  sub- 
sequently found  reason  to  abandon,  may  sometimes  be 
excused,  but  rarely  altogether  justified;  but  under  no 
circumstances  can  such  a  justification  be  pleaded 
when  the  suppression  is  either  designed  or  calculated 
to  compromise  the  claims  of  other  persons  with  re- 
ference to  our  own.  The  memoir  in  question  very 
clearly  showed  that,  so  late  as  the  year  1821,  Cham- 
pollion had  made  no  real  progress  in  removing  the 
mysterious  veil  which  had  so  long  enveloped  the  ancient 
literature  of  Egypt.  The  article  "Egypt,"  written  by 
Young,  had  meantime  confessedly  come  under  his 
observation.  He  saw  the  errors  of  his  views  and 
suppressed  them,  without  giving  due  credit  to  the 
man  who  had  first  struck  into  the  true  path.*  In 
reference  to  an  account  given  by  Champollion  of 
the  labours  of  Young,  Peacock  remarks,  *  It  would 
be  difficult  to  point  out  in  the  history  of  literature 
a  more  flagrant  example  of  the  disingenuous  sup- 
20 


800  THOMAS  YOUNG. 

pression  of  the  real  facts  bearing  upon  an  important 
discovery.' 

And  yet  the  Dean  of  Ely  is  by  no  means  stingy  in 
his  praise  of  Champollion.  It  would  be  unjust,  he 
says,  to  refuse  to  Champollion  the  honour  due  to  his 
rare  skill  and  sagacity,  not  merely  in  the  application 
of  a  principle  already  known,  but  in  its  rapid  exten- 
sion to  a  multitude  of  other  cases,  so  as  not  merely  to 
point  out  its  character  and  use,  but  also  to  determine 
the  principal  elements  of  a  phonetic  alphabet.  His 
long-continued  studies,  Peacock  remarks,  had  fitted 
him  more  than  any  other  living  man,  Young  himself 
hardly  excepted,  to  deal  with  this  subject,  'and  the 
rapidity  of  his  progress,  when  once  fully  started  on  his 
career  of  discovery,  was  worthy  of  the  highest  admi- 
ration.' Peacock,  moreover,  describes  his  work  as  ever 
memorable  in  the  history  of  hieroglyphical  research, 
not  only  from  the  vast  range  of  knowledge  which  it 
displays,  but  from  the  clear  and  lucid  order  in  which  it 
is  arranged.  '  It  was,'  he  continues,  '  singularly  un- 
fortunate that  one  who  possessed  so  much  of  his  own 
should  have  been  so  much  wanting  in  a  proper  sense  of 
justice  to  those  who  had  preceded  him  in  these  inves- 
tigations as  materially  to  lessen  his  claims  to  the  re- 
spect and  reverence  which  would  otherwise  have  been 
most  willingly  conceded  to  him.' 

With  regard  to  the  lack  of  literary  candour,  thus 
so  strongly  commented  on,  it  is  of  interest  to  note  the 
views  concerning  Champollion  held  by  one  of  his  own 
countrymen.  Soon  after  the  researches  of  Young  had 
begun,  an  extremely  interesting  correspondence  was 
established  between  him  and  De  Sacy.  As  early  as 
October  1814  Young  was  able  to  submit  to  his  cor- 
respondent a  'conjectural  translation'  into  Latin  of 
the  Egyptian  Rosetta  inscription.  He  subsequently 


HIEROGLYPHICAL  RESEARCHES.  801 

sent  him  an  English  translation,  the  receipt  of  which 
is  acknowledged  by  De  Sacy  in  a  letter  dated  Paris, 
July  20,  1815.  The  opening  paragraph  of  this  letter 
contains  an  allusion  of  considerable  historic  import- 
ance: —  *  Outre  la  traduction  latine  de  1'inscription 
egyptienne,  que  vous  m'avez  communiquee,  j'ai  16911 
posterieurement  une  autre  traduction  anglaise  impri- 
mee,  que  je  n'ai  pas  en  ce  moment  sous  les  yeux,  Vayant 
pretee  a  M.  Champollion  sur  la  demande  que  son 
frere  m'en  a  faite  d'apres  une  lettre  qu'il  m'a  dit 
avoir  reQue  de  vous."1  In  view  of  the  statement  of 
Champollion  in  a  Precis  of  his  researches  published  in 
1824,  that  he  had  arrived  at  results  similar  to  those 
obtained  by  Dr.  Young  without  having  any  knowledge 
of  Young's  opinions,  the  foregoing  extract  is  significant. 
De  Sacy  goes  on  to  recognise  formally  the  progress 
which  had  been  made  by  Young  at  the  date  of  the  fore- 
going letter.  He  asks  some  questions  regarding  Young's 
method,  which  in  certain  cases  appeared  to  him  enig- 
matical. The  requisite  explanations  were  promptly 
given  by  Young.  In  a  labour  of  the  kind  here  under 
consideration,  that  force  of  genius  which  we  vaguely 
term  intuition  must  come  conspicuously  into  play  ; 
and  it  is  not  always  easy  for  him  to  whom  the  exercise 
of  this  force  is  habitual,  to  make  plain  to  others  the 
nature  and  results  of  its  action. 

De  Sacy  embodies  in  the  letter  above  quoted  some 
personal  remarks  which,  were  it  not  that  their  omission 
would  involve  a  virtual  injustice  to  Young,  one  would 
willingly  pass  over.  '  Si  j'ai  un  conseil  a  vous  donner,' 
writes  the  Baron,  '  c'est  de  ne  pas  trop  communiquer 
vos  decouvertes  a  M.  Champollion.  II  se  pourrait  faire 
qu'il  pretendat  ensuite  a  la  priorite.  II  cherche  en 
plusieurs  endroits  de  son  ouvrage  a  faire  croire  qu'il 
a  decouvert  beaucoup  des  mots  de  1'inscription  £gyp- 


*-TAT«  TIACHCM0  COLLVM 
::ANTA  BAH»ARA. 


802  THOMAS  YOUNG. 

tieiine  de  Rossette.  J'ai  bien  peur  que  ce  nesoitld,  qu« 
du  charlatanisme :  j'ajoute  me'me  que  j'ai  de  forteg 
raisons  de  le  penser.'  The  work  of  Champollion  here 
referred  to  was  entitled  'L'Egypte  sous  les  Pharaons,  ou 
recherches  sur  la  geographic,  la  religion,  la  langue,  leg 
ecritures  et  I'histoire  de  1'Eygpte  avant  1'invasion  de 
Cambyses.'  Two  volumes  of  the  work  were  published 
in  1814,  but  it  was  never  completed. 

In  a  letter  written  towards  the  end  of  1 815,  Young 
passes  the  following  judgment  upon  this  book  in  regard 
to  its  relation  to  the  Eosetta  inscriptions : — 

'  I  have  only  spent  literally  five  minutes  in  looking 
over  Champollion,  turning,  by  means  of  the  index,  to 
the  parts  where  he  has  quoted  the  inscription  of  Eosetta. 
He  follows  Akerblad  blindly,  with  scarcely  any  acknow- 
ledgment. But  he  certainly  has  picked  out  the  sense 
of  a  few  passages  in  the  inscription  by  means  of  Aker- 
blad's  investigations ;  although  in  four  or  five  Coptic 
words  which  he  pretends  to  have  found  in  it,  he  is 
wrong  in  all  but  one,  and  that  is  a  very  short  and  a 
very  obvious  one.' 

Our  neighbours,  the  French,  have  been  always  fond, 
perhaps  rightly  fond,  of  national  glory,  not  only  in 
military  matters,  but  also  in  science  and  literature. 
They  rallied  round  Champollion.  Even  De  Sacy,  who 
had  previously  warned  Young  against  him,  eventually 
joined  in  the  general  pa?an.  Arago  also,  who,  in  regard 
to  the  optical  discoveries  of  Young  had  behaved  so 
honourably,  delivered  an  Eloge  of  Young,  founded, 
according  to  Peacock,  on  the  most  imperfect  and 
narrow  views  of  the  case.  In  fact,  patriotism  came 
into  play  where  cosmopolitanism  ought  to  have  been 
supreme.  Arago  seeks  to  make  out  that  Young  stands  in 
the  same  relation  to  Champollion  as  Hooke,  in  regard 


HIEROGLYPHICAL  RESEARCHES.  808 

to  the  doctrine  of  interferences,  stands  to  Young.  This 
is  certainly  a  bold  comparison.  Arago  himself  gives 
his  reasons  for  entering  the  controversy,  and  they  are 
these: — '  Que  1'interpretation  des  hieroglyphes  egyptiens 
est  Tune  des  plus  belles  deeouvertes  de  notre  siecle ;  que 
Young  a  lui-meme  mele  mon  nom  aux  discussions  dont 
elle  a  ete  1'objet ;  qu'examiner  enfin,  si  la  France  pent 
pretendre  a  ce  nouveau  titre  de  gloire,  c'est  agrandir  la 
mission  que  je  remplis  en  ce  moment,  c'est  faire  acte 
de  bon  citoyen.  Je  sais  d'avance  tout  ce  qu'on  trouvera 
d'etroit  dans  ces  sentimens;  je  n'ignore  pas  que  le 
cosmopolitisme  a  son  beau  cote  ;  mais  en  verite,  de 
quel  nom  ne  pourrais-je  pas  le  stigmatiser  si,  lorsque 
toutes  les  nations  voisiues  enumerent  avec  bonheur  les 
decouvertes  de  leurs  enfans,  il  m'etait  interdit  de  cher- 
cher  dans  cette  enceinte  memo,  parmi  des  confreres  dont 
je  ne  me  permettrai  pas  de  blesser  la  modeste,  la  preuve 
que  la  France  n'est  pas  degeneree,  qu'elle  aussi  apporte 
chaque  annee  son  glorieux  contingent  dans  le  vaste 
depot  des  connaissances  humaines  ? ' 

The  Copley  medal  of  the  Eojal  Society  of  London 
was  awarded  to  Arago  in  1825,  and  on  November  30  of 
that  year,  on  handing  over  the  medal  to  the  gentleman 
deputed  to  receive  it,  Sir  Humphry  Davy,  then  Presi- 
dent of  the  Society,  used  the  following  words : — *  For- 
tunately science,  like  that  Nature  to  which  it  belongs, 
is  neither  limited  by  time  nor  by  space.  It  belongs  to 
the  world,  and  is  of  no  country  and  no  age.'  I  do  not 
hesitate  to  say  that  I  prefer  the  sentiment  of  Davy  to 
that  of  Arago. 

Still,  even  in  France,  Young  did  not  lack  defenders. 
M.  de  Paravey,  Inspecteur  de  1'Ecole  Royale  Polytech- 
nique,  for  example,  speaking  of  himself  in  the  third 
person,  makes  the  following  remarks  in  a  letter  dated 
February  1835,  six  years  after  Young's  death: — 'Ily 


804  THOMAS  YOUNG. 

admira  la  science  avec  laquelle  M.  le  Docteur  Young 
avait  retabli  la  chronologic  des  Rois  d'Egypte,  ne  com- 
mencant  leur  serie  qu'a  la  XVIII  dynastie  de  Manethon, 
en  regardant  les  series  anterieures  comme  inadmissi- 
bles ;  resultats  auxquels  des  travaux  tout  differents 
avaient  egalement  conduit  M.  de  Paravey  :  et,  en  outre, 
il  jugea,  et  il  juge  encore,  que  le  premier  il  entrait 
d'une  maniere  plausible  et  sure  dans  1'interpretation  des 
hieroglypb.es,  fournissant  ainsi  a  M.  Champollion  le 
jeune  une  clef  sans  laquelle  ce  dernier  n'aurait  jamais 
pu  arriver  aux  resultats  importants  et  curieux  que 
depuis  il  a  obtenus.' 

In  the  same  sense,  and  almost  in  the  same  words, 
writes  Sir  Gardner  Wilkinson,  an  ardent  admirer  of 
Champollion,  and  his  chivalrous  defender  against  the 
assaults  made  upon  him  after  his  death.  After  speaking 
of  him  as  the  kindler  into  a  flame  of  the  spark  obtained 
by  Young,  he  continues  thus : — *  Had  Champollion  been 
disposed  to  give  more  credit  to  the  value  and  origin- 
ality of  Dr.  Young's  researches,  and  to  admit  that  the 
real  discovery  of  the  key  to  the  hieroglyphics,  which  in 
his  dexterous  hand  proved  so  useful  in  unlocking  those 
treasures,  was  the  result  of  his  [Young's]  labours,  he 
would  unquestionably  have  increased  his  own  reputa- 
tion without  making  any  sacrifice,' 

Peacock  speaks  with  wondering  admiration  of  the 
modesty  and  forbearance  which  Young  invariably 
showed  in  regard  to  Champollion.  He  complained  a 
little,  but  he  threw  no  doubt  or  insinuation  upon  the 
Frenchman's  honour.  He  confined  himself  exclusively 
to  his  own  published  writings,  and  made  no  reference  to 
the  loads  of  labour  which  lay  upon  his  shelves  unpub- 
lished. Peacock  complains,  and  justly  complains,  of 
the  unfairness  of  comparing  the  Champolliou  of  1824 


HIEROGLYPHICAL  RESEARCHES.  805 

with  the  Young  of  1816.  Young  was  the  initiatory 
genius.  He  gave  Champollion  the  key,  which  he  used 
subsequently  with  that  masterly  skill  and  sagacity 
which  have  rendered  his  name  illustrious.  But  Pea- 
cock emphatically  affirms  that  Champollion  passed 
over  Young's  special  researches  in  connection  with  the 
papyri  of  Grey  and  Cassati;  that  whatever  principle 
of  discovery  had  been  perceived  and  established  or  made 
known,  was  appropriated  without  acknowledgment,  the 
dates  which  would  have  proved  the  unquestionable 
priority  of  Dr.  Young  being  carefully  suppressed. 

The  Dean  of  Ely  obviously  felt  very  sore  in  regard 
to  the  treatment  of  Dr.  Young.  *  It  is  not  our  object,' 
he  says,  *  to  underrate  the  merits  of  the  great  contri- 
butions which  were  made  by  Champollion  to  our  know- 
ledge of  hieroglyphical  literature,  but  to  protest  against 
the  persevering  injustice  with  which  he  treated  the 
labours  of  Dr.  Young;  and  we  feel  more  especially 
called  upon  to  do  so  in  consequence  of  finding  that  an 
author  like  Bunsen,  occupying  so  high  a  position 
among  men  of  letters,  should  have  supported  with  the 
weight  of  his  authority  some  of  the  grossest  of  his  mis- 
representations.' Peacock  acknowledges  his  own  obli- 
gations to  the  valuable  labours  of  his  friend  Mr.  Leitch; 
but  he  also  claims  to  have  pursued  an  independent 
course  by  consulting  the  unpublished  documents  in  his 
possession,  which  were  unknown  even  to  himself  until 
he  was  compelled  to  study  them  in  connection  with  the 
publications  which  had  been  founded  upon  them.  *  It 
was  only,'  he  says,  'after  this  perusal  that  I  became 
fully  aware  how  imperfectly  the  published  writings  of 
Pr.  Young  represented  either  the  extent  or  the  charac- 
ter of  his  researches ;  or  the  real  progress  he  had  made 
in  the  discovery  of  phonetic  hieroglyphics  many  years  be- 
fore Champollion  had  made  his  appearance  in  the  field.' 


806  THOMAS  YOUNG. 

Within  the  walls  of  the  village  church  of  Farn- 
borough,  Kent,  in  the  family  vault  of  his  wife,  lie  the 
remains  of  Thomas  Young.  On  the  church  wall  is  a 
white  marble  slab  with  an  inscription,  the  original  of 
which,  composed  by  Mr.  Hudson  Gurney,  stands  under 
Chantrey's  medallion  of  Young  in  Westminster  Abbey. 
It  runs  thus : — 

BACHED  TO  THE  MEMORY  Off 

THOMAS  YOUNG,  M.D., 

FELLOW   AND   FOREIGN  6ECBETABY  OP  THE  EOYAt  SOCIETY, 
MEMBER  OP  THE  NATIONAL  INSTITUTE  OP   FKANCE  ; 

A  MAN  ALIKE  EMINENT 
IN   ALMOST   EVERY  DEPAETMENT  OP  HUMAN  LEABNINO 

PATIENT  OP  UNINTERMITTED  LABOUR, 
ENDOWED  WITH  THE  FACULTY  OP  INTUITIVE  PERCEPTION, 

WHO,   BRINGING  AN   EQUAL  MASTEBY 
TO  THE  MOST  ABSTRUSE  INVESTIGATIONS 

OP  LETTERS  AND  OF  SCIENCE, 

FIIIST    ESTABLISHED   THE   UNDULATORY   THEORY   OP   LIGHT, 

AND   FIEST    PENETRATED   THE   OBSCURITY 

WHICH   HAD  VEILED  FOB  AGES 

TUB   HIEROGLYPHICS   OF   EGYPT. 

ENDEARED   TO    HIS   FRIENDS   BY   HIS   DOMESTIC   VIRTUES, 
HONOURED  BY  THE  WORLD  FOR   HIS   UNRIVALLED  ACQUIREMENT^ 
UK  DIED  IN   THE    HOPES    OP    THE    RESURRECTION    OF  T1IE  JUST. 


BORN    AT   MILVERTON,  IN  SOMERSETSHIRE,  JUNE    13TH,   1773} 

DIEF    IN    PARK   SQUARE,   LONDON,  MAY   10TH,   1829 

to    THE   56TH   YEAB  OF   HIS  AGJB. 


1887. 
LIFE  IN  THE  ALPS* 

T  E AVINGr  England  in  July,  and  returning  in  October, 
Jj  I  spend  three  months  of  every  year  among  the 
Swiss  mountains.  Various  and  striking  are  the  aspects 
of  nature  witnessed  during  these  long  visits  :  Sunshine 
from  unclouded  skies,  dense  fog,  mountain  mist,  furious 
rain  and  hail,  snow  so  deep  that,  were  not  my  wife  and 
I  thorough  children  of  the  hills,  and  well  acquainted 
with  their  ways,  we  should  sometimes  fear  imprisonment 
in  our  highland  home.  We  have  also  our  due  share  of 
thunder-storms — the  peals  sometimes  rolling  at  safe 
distances,  but  sometimes  breaking  so  close  to  us  that 
we  can  hear  the  hiss  of  the  rocks  which  precedes  the 
deafening  crash.  A  long  roll  of  echoes  follows,  undulat- 
ing in  loudness,  and  finally  dying  away  amid  the  rocky 
halls  of  the  mountains.  This  is  the  state  of  things  so 
vividly  described  by  Lord  Byron  : — 

From  peak  to  peak  the  rattling  crags  among 
Leaps  the  live  thunder. 

As  regards  thunder-storms,  however,  we  are  far 
better  off  than  our  neighbours  in  Northern  Italy,  whose 
hills,  acting  as  lightning-conductors,  partially  drain  the 
clouds  of  their  electricity  before  we  receive  the  shots  of 
their  '  red  artillery.'  We  can  see  from  our  perch  the 

1  Written   for   TJie    Youth*  i    Companion,   Boston,   Mass.     With 
additions. 


809  LIFE   IS  THE  ALPS. 

wonderful  thrilling  of  these  Italian  thunder-storms,  be- 
yond the  great  mountain  range  at  the  farther  side  of 
the  valley  of  the  Rhone. 

At  night  it  is  one  of  the  grandest  of  spectacles. 
Flash  rapidly  follows  flash,  while  at  times  the  light 
bursts  simultaneously  from  different  parts  of  the 
heavens,  every  cloud  and  mountain-top  appearing  then 
'white-listed  tli rough  the  gloom.'  At  night  the  eye  is 
far  more  sensitive  than  it  is  by  day,  the  more  vivid 
lightning  thrills  being  then  quite  dazzling.  Mean- 
while, no  sound  is  heard ;  and  an  observer  might  be 
disposed  to  conclude  that  the  lightning  was  without 
thunder — Blitz  ohne  Donner,  as  the  Germans  say. 
Among  the  southern  mountains,  however,  where  the 
flashes  occur,  there  is  one,  called  the  Monte  Generoso, 
on  which  stands  a  hotel  in  telegraphic  communication 
with  the  lower  world.  Thither  I  have  telegraphed  on 
various  occasions  ;  and  invariably,  when  the  lightning 
was  thrilling  silently  in  the  manner  just  described,  I 
have  been  informed  that  a  terrific  thunderstorm  was 
raging  over  Northern  Italy.1  From  our  position  here 
the  peals  were  too  far  away  to  be  heard. 

The  region  where  we  dwell  was  chosen  by  Mrs. 
Tyndall  and  myself  on  account  of  its  surpassing  beauty 
and  grandeur.  I  first  made  its  acquaintance  twenty- 
nine  years  ago,  having  previously  become  familiar  with 
Mont  Blanc  and  its  glaciers,  and  with  other  glaciers, 
both  in  Switzerland  and  the  Tyrol.  It  is  in  the  Roman 
Catholic  canton  of  Valais,  which,  notwithstanding  the 
success  of  the  Reformation  in  adjoining  cantons,  has,  up 
to  the  present  day,  maintained  its  ancient  religion. 

1  These  messages  once  caused  the  worthy  proprietor  of  the 
Monte  Generoso  Hotel  to  remark  that  he  knew  Englishmen  to  be  in- 
terested in  the  weather;  but  that  a  gentleman  at  the  Bel  A\y 
Deemed  positively  crazy  on  the  subject. 


LIFE  IN  THE  ALPS.  809 

Here  we  live  on  the  friendliest  terms  with  both  the 
priests  and  the  people. 

Switzerland  is  made  up  of  a  number  of  cantons, 
which  are  subdivided  into  communes,  each  possessing 
its  own  president  and  council,  and  making  its  own  locnl 
laws.  The  communal  laws  are,  however,  subject  to  the 
revision  of  the  cantonal  government.  We  live,  for  in- 
stance, in  the  commune  of  Naters.  The  sale  of  the  land 
on  which  our  chalet  stands  was  first  agreed  to  by  the 
vote  of  the  assembled  burghers  of  the  commune ;  but 
their  vote  had  to  be  afterwards  ratified  by  the  *  high 
government'  of  Sion,  the  chief  town  of  the  canton. 
Naters,  the  name  of  the  commune,  is  also  the  name  of 
its  principal  village. 

I  had  the  honour  this  year  of  being  unanimously 
elected  an  honorary  burgher  of  the  commune.  This. 
confers  upon  me -certain  rights  and  privileges  not  pre- 
viously enjoyed.  I  can  pasture  cows  upon  the  alps — a 
name  given  by  the  inhabitants,  not  to  the  snow-rapped 
mountains,  but  to  the  grassy  slopes  stretching  far  below 
the  snows.  I  am  also  entitled  to  a  certain  allowance  of 
fuel  from  the  pine-woods.  Finally,  I  can  build  a  chalet 
on  the  communal  ground.  Prizing,  however,  the  good- 
will of  the  people  more  than  these  material  advan- 
tages, if  I  at  all  avail  myself  of  my  newly  acquired 
rights  and  privileges,  it  will  be  to  a  very  moderate 
extent. 

The  well-known  Bel  Alp  Hotel  stands  some  two  or 
three  hundred  feet  below  our  cottage.  The  name  '  Bel ' 
is  derived  from  a  little  hamlet  of  huts  planted  in  the 
midst  of  grassy  pastures,  or  alps,  about  half  an  hour 
distant  from  the  hotel.  The  ancient  name  of  the  alp 
on  which  we  have  built  our  nest  is  Lusgeu  Alp,  and 
this  is  the  name  that  we  have  given  to  our  cottage.  I 
have  called  it  a  chalet,  but  it  is  by  no  means  one  of  the 


310  LIFE  IN  THE  ALPS. 

picturesque  wooden  edifices  to  which  this  term  is  usually 
applied.  It  has  to  bear,  at  times,  the  pressure  of  a 
mighty  mass  of  snow.  The  walls  are  therefore  built  of 
stone,  and  are  very  thick. 

I  could  give  you  many  illustrations  of  the  breakages 
produced  by  snow  pressure,  but  one  will  suffice.  Our 
kitchen  chimney  rises  from  the  roof  near  the  eave,  and 
the  downward  pressure  of  the  snow  lying  on  the  roof 
above  it  was,  on  two  occasions,  so  great  as  to  shear  away 
the  chimney  and  land  it  bodily  upon  the  snow-drift 
underneath.  At  present  a  tall  pine  tree  constitutes  a 
strut  which  will  prevent  a  recurrence  of  this  disaster. 
When  we  arrive  early  we  usually  find,  here  and  there, 
heavy  residues  of  snow.  Once,  indeed,  to  obtain  en- 
trance to  our  kitchen  we  had  to  cut  a  staircase  of  six 
.steps  in  the  drift  at  the  back  of  the  house. 

A  stream,  brawling  down  the  mountain,  leaps  forth 
as  a  cascade  thirty  paces  from  our  dwelling.  We  have 
a  cistern  beside  the  stream  high  enough  to  command 
the  whole  of  our  cottage.  A  plentiful  water  supply  for 
ordinary  purposes  is  always  at  hand.  For  drinking 
purposes  there  is  a  spring  which  bursts,  crystal-clear, 
from  the  breast  of  the  mountain,  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
below  us.  From  this,  especially  when  the  flocks  and 
herds  are  on  the  alps,  the  drinking  water  ought  in  all 
cases  to  be  drawn.1 

An  hour  ago  our  little  cataract  *  leaped  in  glory.* 
It  is  now  gone — whither  ?  I  climb  to  the  top  of  it,  and 
follow  upwards  the  forsaken  bed  of  the  stream.  In 
half  an  hour  I  hear  the  sound  of  water,  and  soon  after- 
wards come  to  a  point  where  the  bank  of  the  stream  is 

1  During  the  lifetime  of  its  late  proprietor  I  succeeded  in 
getting  this  water  introduced  into  the  Bel  Alp  Hotel.  It  may  be 
useful  to  remark  that  impure  drinking  water  is  just  as  obnoxious  in 
a  bedroom  as  at  a  table  d'hote. 


LIFE  IN  THE  ALPS.  311 

broken  down,  and  a  barrier  of  clods  built  across  it,  all 
its  water  being  thus  diverted  into  another  channel.  The 
streams  are  a  valuable  part  of  the  peasant's  property  ; 
they  are  employed  to  water  the  sloping  meadows,  and 
the  laws  regulating  the  distribution  of  the  water  are 
very  strict.  A  burgher  has  a  right  to  the  use  of  a 
stream  for  a  certain  number  of  hours.  If  he  exceeds 
that  number  he  trespasses  on  his  neighbours' rights,  and 
is  punished  if  found  out.  Now  the  hotel  needs  water; 
and  in  droughty  weather  a  struggle  is  carried  on  between 
the  hotel  and  the  meadows,  during  which  the  supply  of 
the  former  is  not  unfrequently  cut  off.  Such  was  the 
case  this  morning.  When  the  supply  ceases  the  cause  is 
known,  and  a  peasant  provided  with  pick,  spade,  or  shovel, 
climbs  the  mountain  and  restores  the  deflected  stream. 
Within  doors  we  work  on  the  ground  floor  and  sleep 
aloft.  We  have  two  bedrooms  there  and  a  servants' 
bedroom,  all  lined  with  smooth  pine.  The  house  is 
covered  with  pine  shingle,  prettily  cut.  Slates,  I  con- 
sidered, would  be  a  discord  in  the  landscape,  and  the 
right  of  any  man  to  desecrate  a  scene  of  natural  beauty 
by  such  discord  may  be  questioned.  We  are  sometimes 
wrapped  round  by  absolutely  silent  air  ;  more  frequently 
by  air  in  motion,  rising  sometimes,  as  already  indicated, 
to  the  force  and  sound  of  raging  storms.  Over  us  sail 
heav}-laden  clouds  which  shower  their  rain-drops  like 
loud-sounding  pellets  on  the  shingly  roof.  '  The  music 
of  the  rain'  at  night  is  often  soothing  to  a  wakeful 
brain.  I  walk  at  times  on  our  terrace  under  the  stars, 
and  trace  among  them  with  a  clearness  not  seen  else- 
where the  whiteness  of  the  *  Milky  Way.'  Just  now 
the  moon  is  full,  gleaming  from  the  glacier,  and  throw- 
ing her  light,  like  a  holy  robe,  over  the  mountains. 

We  sometimes  quit  our  Swiss  home  regretfully,  with 


312  LIFE  IN  THE  ALPS. 

a  warm  rin  shining  on  the  newly-fallen  snow,  which 
vastly  enhances  the  loveliness  of  the  scenes  around  us. 
We  moreover  regret  bidding  good-bye  to  the  gorgeous 
colouring  of  the  trees  arid  undergrowth,  which  might- 
bear  comparison  with  the  beauty  of  the  foliage  that  I 
have  seen  in  autumn  in  the  neighbourhood  of  your  OWD 
Boston.  I  have  never  forgotten  the  autumn  splendout 
of  Mr.  "Winthrop's  trees  at  Brookline. 

Sometimes,  however,  we  depart  under  difficulties. 
Last  year,  for  example,  on  October  16,  our  porters 
hoisted  on  their  backs  the  luggage  intended  for  home, 
and  through  a  dense  fog,  with  the  snow  three  feet 
deep,  and  still  heavily  falling,  we  moved  downwards. 
Fog  on  the  mountains  is  terribly  bewildering ;  and  as 
we  descended,  one  of  our  men,  who  had  tramped  the 
neighbourhood  from  his  infancy,  and  had  on  that  ac- 
count been  chosen  for  our  leader,  stopped  short,  and 
declared  that  he  did  not  know  which  way  to  proceed. 
There  was  no  danger,  but  the  difficulty  was  considerable. 
A  thousand  feet  or  so  lower  down  we  got  entirely  clear 
of  the  snow. 

Towards  the  end  of  June  the  flocks  and  herds  are 
driven  to  the  upper  pastures,  private  ownership  ceasing 
and  communal  rights,  as  to  grazing,  beginning  at  an 
elevation  of  about  four  thousand  feet  above  the  Rhone, 
or  seven  thousand  feet  above  the  sea.  The  peasants 
and  their  families  accompany  their  living  property,  re- 
maining for  two  or  three  months  in  huts  built  expressly 
with  a  view  to  their  annual  migration.  Nearly  the 
whole  of  them  move  into  Naters  for  the  winter ;  but  wo 
remain  alone,  amid  the  solemn  silence  of  the  hills,  three 
weeks  or  a  month  after  the  peasants. have  disappeared. 
Their  time  of  disappearance  depends  upon  the  exhaus- 
tion of  the  pasturage.  Many  of  them  have  intermediate 
but."  and  bits  of  land  between  Naters  and  their  highest 


LIFE  IN  THE  ALPS.  313 

dwellings.  The  possessors  of  such  huts  descend  by  suc- 
cessive steps  to  the  valley. 

Snow  falls,  of  course,  for  the  most  part,  in  winter ; 
but  the  exact  period  at  which  it  falls  is  not  to  be  pre- 
dicted. A  winter  may  pass  with  scarcely  any  snow, 
while  in  early  spring  it  may  fall  in  immense  quantities. 
Then  follows  a  time  of  avalanches,  when  the  snow,  de- 
taching itself  from  the  steep  mountain-sides,  shoots 
downwards  with  destructive  energy. 

I  have  seen  here,  in  midsummer,  snow  so  heavy  that 
the  herds  had  to  be  driven  a  long  way  down  to  get  a 
little  pasture.  Three  or  four  years  ago,  a  fall  of  un- 
equalled severity  began  on  the  night  of  September  12. 
There  was  a  brief  respite  of  sunshine,  during  which  the 
peasants,  had  they  been  wise,  might  have  brought  down 
their  flocks.  But  they  failed  to  do  so.  Snowing  re- 
commenced, the  sheep  were  caught  upon  the  mountains, 
and  for  a  long  time  they  could  not  be  reached  by  their 
owners.  Parties  of  men,  fourteen  or  fifteen  in  number, 
at  length  ascended  in  search  of  the  sheep.  My  wife  and 
I  trudged  after  one  party,  and  extremely  hard  work 
we  found  it  to  do  so.  The  leader  first  broke  ground, 
floundering  and  ploughing  a  deep  channel  in  the  snow. 
He  was  soon  exhausted,  and  fell  back,  while  a  fresh  man 
came  to  the  front.  Each  of  them  thus  took  the  post 
of  leader  in  his  turn. 

At  a  considerable  elevation  we  parted  company 
with  the  men.  It  was  a  sombre,  sunless  afternoon,  and 
the  scene  was  desolate  in  the  extreme.  Here  and  there 
we  could  discern  groups  of  men,  two  or  three  in  number, 
engnged  in  skinning  the  dead  sheep  they  had  discovered. 
A  joint  of  meat  would  have  remained  sweet  for  any 
length  of  time  in  the  snow,  but  the  warmth  preserved 
by  the  fleece  caused  the  flesh  of  the  sheep  to  putrefy. 

For  thirteen    days  the   chief  portion  of  the  flock 


314  LIFE  IN  THE  ALPS. 

remained  unaccounted  for.  During  all  this  time  the 
animals  were  without  food,  and,  indeed,  were  given  up 
for  lost.  Nearly  two  hundred  of  them,  however,  were 
afterwards  driven  down  to  the  Bel  Alp  alive.  I  saw 
them  arrive  after  their  long  fast,  and  they  seemed  per- 
fectly brisk  and  cheerful.  Some  of  them  were  entirely 
hare  of  wool,  the  covering  having  been  eaten  off  their 
backs  by  their  famishing  companions.  I  have  been, 
assured  that  the  sheep  which  indulged  in  this  nutriment 
all  died,  balls  of  undigested  wool  being  found  in  their 
stomachs  afterwards.  Avalanches  were  frequent  at  the 
time  here  referred  to,  and  by  them  numbers  of  sheep  on 
the  lower  slopes  were  swept  away. 

It  is  only  those  burghers  who  are  comparatively 
well  off  that  ascend  to  the  higher  grazing  grounds. 
Even  they  seem  to  find  the  struggle  for  existence  a 
hard  one.  Two  or  three  cows  and  a  few  sheep  or  goats 
constitute,  in  well-to-do  cases,  the  burgher's  movable 
wealth,  while  the  land  privately  owned  is  divided  into 
very  small  parcels. 

The  peasants'  huts,  built,  for  the  most  part,  of  pine- 
logn,  richly  coloured  by  the  oxidising  action  of  the  sun, 
are  not  always  as  wholesome  as  they  might  be.  The 
upper  part  of  every  hut  is  divided  into  two  dwelling- 
rooms,  one  for  sleeping,  and  the  other  for  cooking  and 
other  purposes.  The  single  sleeping-room  is  sometimes 
occupied  by  a  numerous  family,  space  being  obtained 
by  placing  one  bed  above  another,  like  the  bertha 
in  a  ship.  There  is  no  chimney,  the  smoke  escaping 
through  apertures  in  the  roof. 

In  our  neighbourhood,  the  roofs  are  usually  formed 
of  flags  obtained  from  a  rock  capable  of  cleavage. 
The  sleeping-room  is  always  over  the  cowshed,  this 
position  being  chosen  for  the  sake  of  warmth.  Through 
chinks  in  the  floor,  the  sleepers  not  only  obtain  warmth. 


LIFE  IN  THE  ALPS.  315 

but  often  air  which  has  passed  through  the  lungs  of 
the  animals  underneath.  The  result,  as  regards  health, 
is  not  satisfactory,  the  women  and  children  suffering 
most.  Were  it  not  that  the  contaminated  respiration 
of  the  night  is  neutralised  by  outdoor  life  during  the 
flay,  the  result  would  be  still  less  satisfactory. 

Thanks  to  a  liberal  London  chemist,  I  am  provided, 
from  time  to  time,  with  simple  medicines  for  those  re- 
quiring medical  treatment,  and  with  plaisters  for  those 
requiring  surgeon's  aid.  Thanks  also  to  the  physicians 
who  visit  the  Bel  Alp  Hotel,  I  am  sometimes  able  to 
apply  these  remedies  with  specially  good  effect.  In 
the  absence  of  a  qualified  doctor  I  do  the  best  I  can 
myself.  The  peasants  come  to  me  in  considerable  num- 
bers, while  I  frequently  go  to  them. 

I  do  my  best  to  induce  the  people  to  open  the  win- 
dows of  their  sleeping-rooms  during  the  day.  The 
advice  is,  in  many  cases,  attended  to ;  while,  even 
where  it  is  neglected,  whenever  I  am  seen  approaching  a 
hut  containing  a  patient,  the  windows  are  thrown  open. 
Justice,  firmness,  and  kindness  suffice  to  make  people 
accept  an  almost  despotic  rule ;  and  this,  in  my  own 
small  way,  1  find  to  be  true  of  my  Alpine  neighbours. 

As  I  write,  a  rush,  followed  by  a  heavy  thud,  informs 
me  that  a  mass  of  snow  has  shot  from  the  southern 
slope  of  our  roof  down  upon  our  terrace.  The  rush  is 
one  of  a  series,  brought  down  by  the  strong  morning 
gun.  This  reminds  me  to  tell  you  something  more 
about  the  avalanches  which  are  such  frequent  destroyers 
of  life  in  the  Alps.  Whole  villages,  imprudently  situ- 
ated, are  from  time  to  time  overwhelmed.  We  had  an 
eye  to  this  danger  when  we  chose  the  rocky  prominence 
on  which  our  cottage  is  built. 

Climbers  and  their  guides  are  not  unfrequently 
21 


316  LIFE  IN  THE  ALPS. 

carried  away  by  avalanches,  and  many  a  brave  man 
lies  at  the  present  moment  undiscovered  in  their  debris. 
Some  years  ago,  a  famous  guide,  and  favourite  com- 
panion of  mine,  allowed  himself  to  be  persuaded  to  at- 
tempt the  ascent  of  a  mountain  which  he  considered 
unsafe,  and  lost  his  life  in  consequence.  On  the  slope  of 
this  mountain,  with  the  summit  fully  in  view,  a  report 
resembling  a  pistol  shot  was  heard  by  the  party.  It  was 
the  cracking  of  the  snow.  My  friend  observed  the 
crack,  and  saw  it  widen.  Tossing  his  arms  in  the  air 
he  exclaimed,  '  We  are  all  lost ! '  The  fatal  rush  fol- 
lowed in  a  moment,  and  my  noble  guide,  with  a  Russian 
gentleman  to  whom  he  was  roped,  were  dug,  dead,  out 
of  the  snow  some  days  afterwards.  The  other  members 
of  the  party  escaped. 

I  will  now  describe  to  you  an  adventure  of  my  own 
on  one  of  these  avalanches.  Five  of  us,  tied  together 
by  a  rope,  were  descending  a  steep  slope  of  ice,  covered 
by  a  layer  of  snow,  which  is  always  a  position  of  danger. 
Through  inadvertence  the  snow  was  detached,  an 
avalanche  was  formed,  and,  on  it,  all  five  of  us  were 
carried  down  at  a  furious  pace.  We  were  shot  over 
crevasses,  and  violently  tossed  about  by  the  inequalities 
of  the  surface.  The  length  of  the  slope  down  which 
we  rushed  in  this  fashion  was  about  a  thousand  feet. 
It  was  a  very  grave  accident,  and  within  a  hair's  breadth 
of  being  a  very  calamitous  one.  A  small  gold  watch, 
which  I  then  carried,  was  jerked  out  of  my  pocketj 
and,  when  we  stopped,  I  found  a  fragment  of  the  watch- 
chain  hanging  around  my  neck. 

I  made  an  excursion  into  Italy,  returned  after  an 
absence  of  nearly  three  weeks,  and,  half  jestingly, 
organised  a  party  to  go  in  search  of  the  watch.  The 
proverbial  needle  in  a  bundle  of  straw  seemed  hardly 
more  hopeless  as  an  object  of  discovery  ;  still,  I  thought 


LIFE  IN  THE  ALPS.  317 

it  barely  possible  that  the  snow  which  covered  the 
watch  might,  during  my  absence,  have  sufficiently 
melted  away  to  bring  the  watch  to  the  surface.  An 
ascent  of  some  hours  brought  us  to  the  scene  of  our 
impetuous  glissade,  and  soon  afterwards,  to  our  sur- 
prise and  delight,  the  watch  was  found  on  the  surface 
of  the  snow.  Its  case  must  have  fitted  water-tight,  for 
on  being  wound  up  it  began  to  tick  immediately.  It 
is  now  in  the  possession  of  my  godson. 

Falling  stones  constitute  another  serious,  and  fre- 
quently fatal,  danger  in  the  Alps.  And  here  the  goats, 
which  roam  about  the  upper  slopes  and  gullies,  often 
play  a  mischievous  part.  An  incident  of  this  kind, 
witnessed  by  myself,  occurred  many  years  ago  about  mid- 
way between  Chamounix  and  the  Montanvert.  I  was 
accompanied  at  the  time  by  a  friend  and  his  son.  A 
herd  of  goats  was  observed  browsing  on  the  heights 
above  us.  Their  'appearance  suggested  caution.  Sud- 
denly an  ominous  tapping  was  heard  overhead,  and, 
looking  up,  I  saw  a  stone  in  the  air.  Whenever  it 
touched  the  rock-strewn  ground  it  was  deflected,  so 
that  from  the  direction  of  the  stone  at  any  moment 
it  was  difficult  to  infer  its  final  direction.  I  called  out 
to  my  friend,  '  Beware  of  the  stone  I '  and  he,  turning 
towards  his  son,  repeated  the  warning.  It  had  scarcely 
quitted  his  lips,  when  the  missile  plunged  down  upon 
himself.  He  fell  with  a  shout,  and  I  was  instantly  at 
his  side.  The  stone  had  struck  the  calf  of  his  leg, 
embedding  one  of  its  angles  in  the  flesh,  and  inflicting 
a  very  ugly  wound. 

By  good  fortune,  a  spring  of  pure  water  was  at  hand  ; 
a  wet  compress  was  rapidly  prepared,  and  the  wound 
was  bandaged.  Then,  hurrying  down  to  Chamounix, 
which  was  some  two  thousand  feet  below  us,  I  brought 


318  LIFE  IN  THE  ALPS. 

up  men  and  means,  to  carry  the  patient  to  his  hotel. 
Perfect  quiet  would  have  soon  set  everything  right, 
but  the  premature  motion  of  the  limb  was  succeeded 
by  inflammation  and  other  serious  consequences. 

Slipping  in  perilous  places  is  the  most  fruitful  cause 
of  Alpine  disaster.  It  is  usual  for  climbers  to  rope 
themselves  together,  and  the  English  Alpine  dub  has 
taken  every  pains  to  produce  ropes  of  the  soundest 
material  and  the  best  workmanship.  The  rope  is  tied 
around  the  waist,  or  is  fastened  to  a  belt  clasping  the 
waist,  of  the  climber.  The  rope  is  an  indispensable 
accompaniment  of  Alpine  climbing,  and  no  competent 
mountaineer  will  recommend  its  abandonment.  Pru- 
dence, however,  is  necessary  in  the  use  of  it.  The 
men  tied  together  ought  to  be  few  in  number.  A  party 
of  three  or  four,  including  the  guide,  or  guides,  is  in 
my  opinion  large  enough.  In  a  numerous  party,  there 
is  a  temptation  to  distribute  responsibility,  each  indi- 
vidual tending  to  rely  too  much  upon  the  others ;  while, 
in  a  small  party,  the  mind  of  each  man  is  more  con- 
centrated on  the  precautions  necessary  for  safety. 
Besides  this,  we  have  the  terrible  enhancement  of  the 
calamity  when  the  slipping  of  a  single  individual 
carries  a  number  of  others  to  destruction.  It  was  a  slip 
— by  whom  we  know  not — that  caused  the  disaster  on 
the  Matterhorn  which  so  profoundly  stirred  the  public 
mind  some  years  ago.  On  that  occasion,  one  of  the 
foremost  guides  of  the  Alps,  and  one  of  the  best  gentle- 
men climbers,  lost  their  lives,  in  company  with  two 
younger  colleagues. 

The  fearful  disaster  on  the  Jungfrau  this  year  was, 
doubtless,  due  to  the  same  cause.  Six  strong  climbers, 
all  natives  of  Switzerland,  succeeded,  without  guides,  in 
scaling  the  mountain  from  the  northern  side.  From  the 
summit  they  attempted  to  descend  the  southern  slope, 


LIFE  IN  THE  ALPS.  319 

the  danger  of  which  varies  with  the  condition  of  the 
snow  or  ice.  I  had  frequently  wondered  that  no  accident 
had  ever  previously  occurred  here ;  for,  to  an  experienced 
eye,  the  possibility  of  a  fatal  accident  was  plain  enough- 
On  this  slope  the  six  climbers  met  their  doom.  They 
were  roped  together,  and  probably  only  one  of  them 
slipped ;  but  his  slip  involved  the  destruction  of  them  all. 
A  few  weeks  after  its  occurrence  I  inspected  the  scene 
of  the  disaster,  saw  the  rocks  down  which  the  men  had 
fallen, and  the  snowfield  on  which  their  bodies  were  found. 
Their  reaching  the  summit  without  guides  proved 
them  to  be  competent  men.  But  they  could  hardly 
have  accomplished  the  ascent  without  fatigue,  and  tired 
men  sometimes  shrink  from  the  labour  of  hewing  safe 
steps  in  obdurate  ice.  Neglect  on  this  score  may  have 
been  the  cause  of  the  accident.  But  this  is  mere  sur- 
mise, the  only  thing  certain  being  the  mournful  fact 
that  on  the  Jungfrau,  this  year,  six  men  in  the  very 
prime  of  life  went  simultaneously  to  destruction. 

On  the  fine  October  morning  when  these  lines  are 
written,  we  find  ourselves  surrounded  everywhere  by 
glittering  snow.  The  riven  Aletsch  glacier  and  its 
flanking  mountains  are  dazzling  in  their  whiteness. 
After  a  period  of  superb  weather,  streaks  and  wisps  of 
boding  cloud  made  their  appearance  a  few  days  ago. 
They  spread,  became  denser,  and  finally  discharged 
themselves  in  a  heavy  fall  of  snow.  But  the  sunshine 
rapidly  recovered  its  ascendency,  and  the  peasants,  who 
had  already  descended  some  distance  with  their  cows 
nnd  sheep,  hoped  that  two  days  of  such  warmth  would 
again  clear  their  pastures. 

They  were  deceived,  for  through  the  whole  of  yester- 
day the  snow  fell  steadily.  It  interrupted  the  transport 
of  our  firewood,  on  mules'  backs,  from  the  pine  woodi 


320  LIFE  IN  THE  ALPS. 

nearly  one  thousand  feet  below  us.  This  morning,  how- 
ever, I  opened  the  glass  door  of  our  little  sitting-room, 
which  faces  south,  and  stepped  out  upon  our  terrace. 
The  scene  was  unspeakably  grand.  To  the  right  rose 
the  peak  of  the  Weisshorn,  the  most  perfect  embodi- 
ment of  Alpine  majesty,  purity,  and  grace.  Next 
came  the  grim  Matterhorn,  then  the  noble  Mischabel- 
horner,  surmounted  by  the  'Dom.'  Eight  opposite  rose 
the  Fletschhorn,  a  rugged,  honest-looking  mass,  of  true 
mountain  mould;  while  to  the  left  of  Napoleon's  road 
over  the  Simplon  Pass  stretched  the  snow-ridge  of  the 
Monte  Leone — which,  no  doubt,  derives  its  name  from 
its  resemblance  to  a  couchant  lion.  Soft  gleaming 
clouds  wrapped  themselves  at  times  grandly  round  the 
mountains,  revealing  and  concealing,  as  they  shifted, 
melted,  or  were  re-created,  the  snow-capped  peaks. 

About  one  thousand  five  hundred  feet  below  us  the 
white  covering  came  to  an  end,  while,  beyond  this, 
sunny  green  pastures  descended  to  the  valley  of  the 
Rhone.  From  the  chimneys  of  our  cottage,  a  light 
wind  carried  the  smoke  in  a  south-westerly  direction ; 
the  clouds,  just  referred  to,  being,  therefore,  to  leeward, 
and  not  in  '  the  wind's  eye,'  did  not  portend  bad 
weather.  To  the  north,  the  peaks  grouped  themselves 
round  the  massive  Aletschhorn,  the  second  in  height 
among  these  Oberland  Mountains.  Over  the  Aletschhorn 
the  sky  was  clear,  which  is  one  of  the  surest  signs  of 
fine  weather.  Once,  on  a  morning  as  fair  and  exhila- 
rating as  the  present  one,  but  earlier  in  the  year,  Mrs. 
Tyndall  and  myself,  from  the  top  of  the  Aletschhorn — 
a  height  of  fourteen  thousand  feet — looked  down  upon 
the  summit  of  the  Jungfrau. 

The  general  aspects  of  the  Alpine  atmosphere,  and, 
more  especially,  the  forms  and  distribution  of  the 


LIFE  IN  THE  ALPS.  321 

clouds,  are  very  different  in  autumn  from  what  they  are 
in  early  summer.  The  grandest  effects  of  our  moun- 
tains are,  indeed,  displayed  when  no  tourist  is  here  to 
look  at  them.  To  us,  who  remain,  this  is  not  a  disad- 
vantage ;  for,  like  the  poet's  l  rapture  on  a  lonely  shore,' 
there  is  rapture  for  the  lover  of  Nature  in  the  lonely 
mountains,  and  'a  radiance  of  wisdom  in  their  pine 
woods.'  I  well  remember,  after  the  tourist  season  at 
Niagara  Falls  had  ended,  my  deep  delight  in  visiting 
alone  the  weird  region  of  the  '  Whirlpool.'  Your 
countryman,  Thoreau,  did  not  love  the  wilds  more  than 
I  do.  " 

One  striking  feature  invariably  reveals  itself  here 
at  the  end  of  September  and  the  beginning  of  October. 
From  the  terrace  of  our  cottage  we  look  down  upon  a 
basin  vast  and  grand,  at  the  bottom  of  which  stands 
the  town  of  Brieg.  Over  Brieg,  the  line  of  vision 
carries  us  to  the  Simplon  Pass,  and  the  mountains  right 
and  left  of  it.  Naters  stands  in  a  great  gap  of  the 
mountains,  while  meadows  and  pine-clad  knolls  stretch, 
with  great  variety  of  contour,  up  to  the  higher  Alpine 
pastures.  The  basin  has  no  regularly  rounded  rim,  but 
runs  into  irregular  bays  and  estuaries,  continuous  with 
the  great  valley  of  the  Rhone. 

At  the  period  referred  to,  valley,  basin,  bays,  and 
estuaries  are  frequently  filled  by  a  cloud,  the  upper  sur- 
face of  which  seems,  at  times,  as  level  as  the  unruffled 
surface  of  the  ocean.  A  night  or  two  ago  I  looked  down 
upon  such  a  sea  of  cloud,  as  it  gleamed  in  the  light 
of  a  brilliant  moon.  Above  the  shining  sea  rose  the 
solsmn  mountains,  overarched  by  the  star-gemmed  sky. 
Here  your  young  imaginations  must  aid  me,  for  my  pen 
fails  to  pursue  any  further  the  description  of  the  scene. 

As  I  write,  on  a  day  subsequent  to  that  already 
mentioned,  a  firmament  of  undimmed  azure  shuts  out 


322  LIFE  IN  THE  ALP& 

the  view  into  stellar  space.  No  trace  of  cloud  is  visible  j 
and  yet  the  substance  from  which  clouds  are  made  is, 
at  this  moment,  mixed  copiously  with  the  transparent 
air.  That  substance  is  the  vapour  of  water ;  and  I  take 
this  beautiful  day  as  an  illustration,  to  impress  upon 
you  the  fact  that  water-vapour  is  not  a  thing  that  can 
be  seen  in  the  air.  Were  the  atmosphere  above  and 
around  me  at  the  present  moment  suddenly  chilled, 
visible  clouds  would  be  formed  by  the  precipitation  of 
vapour  now  invisible. 

Some  years  ago,  I  stood  upon  the  roof  of  the  great 
cathedral  of  Milan.  The  air  over  the  plains  of  Lom- 
bardy  was  then  as  pure  and  transparent  as  it  is  here 
to-dav.  From  the  cathedral  roof  the  snowy  Alps  are  to 
be  seen  ;  and  on  the  occasion  to  which  I  refer,  a  light 
wind  blew  towards  them.  When  this  air,  so  pure  and 
transparent  as  long  as  the  sunny  plains  of  Lombardy 
were  underneath  to  warm  it,  reached  the  cold  Alps,  and 
was  tilted  up  their  sides,  the  aqueous  vapour  it  con- 
tained was  precipitated  into  clouds  of  scowling  black- 
ness, laden  with  suow. 

If  you  pour  cold  water  into  a  tumbler  on  a  fine 
summer  day,  a  dimness  will  be  immediately  produced 
by  the  conversion  into  water,  on  the  outside  surface  of 
the  glass,  of  the  aqueous  vapour  of  the  surrounding 
air.  Pushing  the  experiment  still  further,  you  may 
fill  a  suitable  vessel  with  a  mixture  of  ice  and  salt, 
which  is  colder  than  the  coldest  water.  On  the  hot- 
test day  in  summer,  a  thick  fur  of  hoar  frost  ia 
thus  readily  produced  on  the  chilled  surface  of  the 
vessel. 

The  quantity  of  vapour  which  the  atmosphere  con- 
tains varies  from  day  to  day.  In  England,  north- 
easterly winds  bring  us  dry  air,  because  the  wind,  before 
reaching  us,  has  passed  over  vast  distances  of  dry 


LIFE  IN  THE  ALPS.  323 

land.  South-westerly  winds,  on  the  other  hand,  come 
charged  with  the  vapour  contracted  during  their  pass-age 
over  vast  tracts  of  ocean.  Such  winds,  in  England, 
produce  the  heaviest  rains. 

And  now  we  approach  a  question  of  very  great  in- 
terest. The  condensed  vapour  which  reaches  the  low- 
lands as  rain,  falls  usually  upon  the  summits  as  snow. 
To  a  resident  among  the  Alps  it  is  interesting  to  ob- 
serve, the  morning  after  a  night's  heavy  rain,  a  limit 
sharply  drawn  at  the  same  level  along  the  sides  of  the 
mountains,  above  which  they  are  covered  with  snow, 
while  below  it  no  snow  is  to  be  seen.  This  limit  marks 
the  passage  from  snow  to  rain. 

To  the  mountain  snow  all  the  glaciers  of  the  Alps 
owe  their  existence.  By  ordinary  mechanical  pressure 
snow  can  be  converted  into  solid  ice  ;  and,  partly  by  its 
own  pressure,  partly  by  the  freezing  of  infiltrated 
water,  the  snow  of  the  mountains  is  converted  into  the 
ice  of  the  glaciers. 

The  great  glaciers,  such  as  the  one  now  below  me, 
have  all  large  gathering  grounds,  great  basins  or 
branches  where  the  snow  collects  and  becomes  gra- 
dually compacted  to  ice.  Partly  by  the  yielding  of  its 
own  mass,  and  partly  by  sliding  over  its  bed,  this  ice 
moves  downwards  into  a  trunk  valley,  where  it  forms 
what  De  Saussure  called  'a  glacier  of  the  first  order.' 
Such  a  glacier  resembles  a  river  with  its  tributaries. 
We  may  go  further  and  affirm,  with  a  distinguished 
writer  on  this  subject,  that  '  between  a  glacier  and  a 
river  there  is  a  resemblance  so  complete,  that  it  would 
be  impossible  to  find,  in  the  one,  a  peculiarity  of  motion 
which  does  not  exist  in  the  other.' 

Thus,  it  has  been  proved  that  owing  to  the  friction 
of  its  sides  which  holds  the  ice  back,  the  motion  of  a 


324  LIFE  IN  THE  ALPS. 

glacier  is  swiftest  at  its  centre ;  that  because  of  the 
friction  against  its  bed,  the  surface  of  a  glacier  moves 
more  rapidly  than  its  bottom;  that  when  the  valley 
through  which  the  glacier  moves  is  not  straight,  but 
curved,  the  point  of  swiftest  motion  is  shifted  from  its 
centre  towards  the  concave  side  of  the  valley.  Wide 
glaciers,  moreover,  are  sometimes  forced  through  narrow 
gorges,  after  which  they  widen  again.  At  some  distance 
below  the  spot  where  I  now  write  is  the  gorge  of  the 
Massa  through  which,  in  former  ages,  the  great  Aletsch 
glacier  was  forced  to  pass,  widening  afterwards,  and  over- 
spreading a  large  tract  of  country  in  its  descent  to  the 
valley  of  the  Ehone.  All  these  facts  hold  equally  good 
for  a  river. 

On  summer  days  of  cloudless  glory,  the  air  is  some- 
times still,  and  the  heat  relaxing  upon  the  mountains. 
The  glacier  is  then  in  the  highest  degree  exhilarating. 
Down  it  constantly  rolls  a  torrent  of  dry  tonic  air, 
which  forms  part  of  a  great  current  of  circulation. 
From  the  heated  valleys  the  light  air  rises,  and  coming 
into  contact  with  the  higher  snows,  is  by  them  chilled 
and  rendered  heavier.  This  enables  it  to  play  the  part 
of  a  cataract,  and  to  roll  down  the  glacier  to  the  valley 
from  which  it  was  originally  lifted  by  the  sun.  But 
the  action  of  the  sun  upon  the  ice  itself  is  still  more 
impressive.  Everywhere  around  you  is  heard  the  hum 
of  streams.  Down  the  melting  ice-slopes  water  trickles 
to  feed  little  streamlets  at  their  bases.  These  meet 
and  form  larger  streams,  which  again,  by  their  union, 
form  rivulets  larger  still.  Water  of  exquisite  purity 
thus  flows  through  channels  flanked  with  azure  crystal. 
The  water,  as  if  rejoicing  in  its  liberty,  rushes  along  in 
rapids  and  tumbles  in  sounding  cascades  over  cliffs  of 
ice.  The  streams  pass  under  frozen  arches  and  are 
spanned  here  and  there  by  slabs  of  rock  which,  acting 


LIFE   IN  THE  ALPS.  325 

as  natural  bridges,  render  the  crossing  of  the  torrent 
easy  from  side  to  side.  Sooner  or  later  these  torrents 
plunge  with  a  thunderous  sound  into  clefts  or  shafts, 
the  latter  bearing  the  name  of  moulins  or  mills,  and 
thus  reach  the  bottom  of  the  glacier.  Here  the  river 
produced  by  the  melting  of  the  surface-ice  rushes  on 
unseen,  coming  to  the  light  of  day  as  the  Khone,  or 
the  Massa,  or  the  Visp,  or  the  Rhine,  at  the  end  of  the 
glacier. 

A  small  dark-coloured  stone  sinks  into  the  ice,  while 
a  large  stone  protects  the  ice  beneath  it.  Through  the 
small  stone  the  heat  readily  passes  by  conduction  to 
its  lower  surface  and  melts  the  ice  underneath  ;  while 
the  barrier  offered  by  the  large  stone  to  the  passage  of 
the  heat  cannot  be  overcome.  Round  the  large  stone, 
therefore,  the  exposed  ice  melts  away,  leaving  the 
rock  supported  upon  a  stalk  or  pillar  of  protected  ice. 
Slabs  of  granite,  having  a  surface  of  one  hundred 
or  two  hundred  square  feet,  are  to  be  found  at  this 
moment  poised  upon  pillars  of  ice  on  the  Ober  Aletsch 
glacier.  Some  of  them  are  nearly  horizontal.  They 
are  called  '  tables,'  and  right  royal  tables  they  are  for 
those  privileged  to  feast  upon  them.  Sand  strewn  upon 
the  glacier  by  the  streams  also  protects  the  ice.  The 
protected  parts,  being  left  behind,  like  the  '  tables,' 
form  what  are  called  the  '  sand  cones '  of  the  glacier. 
On  the  adjacent  glacier  there  are  cones  from  ten  to 
twenty  feet  in  height,  and  they  sometimes  reach  an 
even  greater  elevation.  On  first  seeing  them,  you 
would  imagine  them  to  be  heaps  of  pure  sand.  But  a 
stroke  of  the  ice-axe  shows  the  sand  to  be  merely  the 
superficial  covering  of  a  cone  of  specially  hard  ice. 
The  medial  moraine,  which  stretches  like  a  great  flexile 
serpent  along  the  centre  of  the  glacier  now  below  me, 


326  LIFE  IN  THE  ALPS. 

also  protects  the  ice,  causing  it  to  rise  as  a  spine  which 
attains  in  some  places  a  height  of  fifty  feet  above  the 
surface  of  the  glacier. 

It  is  easy  to  understand  that  with  a  substance  like 
glacier  ice,  when  some  parts  of  it  are  held  back  by 
friction,  while  other  parts  tend  to  move  forward,  strains 
must  occur  which  will  crack  and  tear  the  ice,  forming 
clefts  or  fissures,  to  relieve  the  strains.  The  crevassea 
of  glaciers  are  thus  produced. 

And  here  we  have  another  conspicuous  danger  of 
the  Alps.  Crevasses  have  been  the  graves  of  many  a 
gallant  mountaineer.  They  are  especially  dangerous 
when  concealed  by  roofs  of  snow,  which  is  frequently 
the  case  in  the  higher  portions  of  the  glacier.  Of  this 
danger  my  own  experience  furnishes  examples  not  to 
be  forgotten.  Passing  them  by,  I  may  mention  that, 
during  the  present  year,  an  esteemed  English  clergy- 
man was  lost  upon  an  easy  glacier  of  the  Engadine, 
through  the  yielding  of  a  snow  bridge  over  which  h~e 
was  passing.  The  crevasse  into  which  he  fell  could  not 
have  been  deep,  as  he  was  able  to  converse  with  a  com- 
panion above,  and  to  make  the  tapping  of  his  ice-axe 
heard.  He  did  not,  as  far  as  I  know,  complain  of 
being  hurt,  but  desired  his  companion  to  hasten  to 
procure  a  rope.  The  distance  to  be  passed  over,  how- 
ever, before  the  rope  and  the  necessary  help  could  be 
obtained,  was  considerable  ;  and  when  rope  and  help 
arrived,  the  clergyman  was  dead. 

A  discussion  followed  in  the  newspapers  as  to  the 
amount  of  blame  to  be  assigned  to  the  gentleman  who 
went  for  the  rope.  It  was  said  by  one  writer  that  he 
ought  to  have  tied  his  clothes  together,  and,  by  their 
aid,  to  have  drawn  up  his  friend.  The  reader  of  Mr. 
Laurence  Oliphant's  last  remarkable  volume  will  re« 


LIFE  IN  THE  ALP&  327 

member  that  Mr.  Oliphant  was  once  lifted  from  a 
dangerous  position  by  a  device  of  this  kind. 

I  never  lifted  a  man  out  of  a  crevasse  by  a  rope  of 
clothes,  but  the  lost  guide  to  whom  I  have  already  re- 
ferred, and  myself,  were  once  let  down  by  such  a  rope 
into  a  chasm,  from  which,  by  means  of  a  real  rope, 
which  had  been  entombed  with  himself,  we  rescued  a 
fellow-traveller.  Even  with  the  best  of  ropes,  it  would 
require  a  very  strong  single  man  above,  and  an  ex- 
tremely expert  ice-man  below,  to  effect  a  rescue  from  a 
crevasse  of  any  depth.  In  most  cases  it  would  be  impos- 
sible. So  that  I  think  but  little  blame  was  incurred 
by  the  omission  of  the  clothes-rope  experiment. 

If  a  doubt  be  at  all  permitted,  it  must,  I  think,  be  on 
the  ground  that,  having  found  rescuers,  the  gentleman 
failed  to  accompany  them  back  to  the  glacier.  He 
pleaded  exhaustion,  and  it  is  a  valid  plea.  With 
wider  knowledge,  however,  he  might,  perhaps,  have 
had  himself  carried  to  the  glacier  rather  than  remain 
behind.  To  a  person  dying  of  cold  time  is  everything; 
and  time  may  have  been  lost  by  the  guides  in  finding 
the  particular  crevasse  in  which  the  unhappy  traveller 
was  entombed.  The  survivor,  however,  may  have  been 
able  to  describe  with  accuracy  the  position  of  the 
fissure.  If  so,  he  was  in  my  opinion  blameless. 

Taking  its  whole  tenor  into  account,  the  title  of 
this  article,  instead  of  being  '  Life  in  the  Alps,'  might 
perhaps,  with  more  appropriateness,  have  been  *  Life 
and  Death  in  the  Alps.' 

SUPPLEMENT,  1890. 

There  remain  two  little  points — the  first  of  which  I 
have  not  seen  noticed  elsewhere — which  I  should  like,  be- 
fore we  part,  to  mention  to  my  *  young  companion.'  OD 


:  Ir  -1-  -    ~ 


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LIFE  DT  THE  ALPS.  Sir 


yet  the  displacement  in  a  single  year  cannot  be 
more  than  a  hairVbreadth.  Looking  abroad,1 
still  larger  evidence*  of  imperceptible  inotiam.  Wefind 
locks  crarkfd  across,  cavities  fimned,  crevasses  C*|**TCi. 
and  separated  from  each  ether  by  wrinkled  soil;  the 
whole  leaving  no  doubt  upon  the  mind  an  to  the  slow 
motion  of  the  whole  surface  of  tins  awnntain  downwards. 
And  when  we  examine  the  outlines  of  the  hiQs,  we  fisd 
that  this  sliding  down  must,  in  former  ages,  have  oc- 
curred on  a  vast  scale.  The  torrents  whidi  furrow  the 

'.'•-'      _  "  r    .  '. 


their  sides,  cany,  in  the  loog  ran,  botb  sliding 
and  moiing  earth  to  lower  levels. 

We  have  now  come  to  oar  candading  obeetratiasu 
On  the  25th  of  September,  1890,  my  friend  M.  K 
Saiasin,  of  Genera,  and  myself,  bad  the  good  fMtme 
to  witnes  a  laie  and  beantiful  phenomenoo.  The  son 
was  doping  to  the  west,  and  the  ^auVy  below  us,  m 
which  lies  the  great  AletsA  gtatiet,  was  filled  by  a 
dense  Cog.  Standing  in  a  «•••«•  position,  with  the 
aim  behind  us,  we  saw,  swept  through  the  Big  in  front 
of  us,  a  grand  colourless  aieh  of  fight.  It  occupied  a 
position  dose  to  that  which  an  onfinarj  coloured  xain- 
bow  might  have  ou.upif.ri.  Twice  in  Fnghwi^  and 
twice  only,  I  have  seen  this  fnrwJgi'Bd  Hnni^'riin  %mri — 
the  firet  time,  in  company  with  my  wife,  on  the  high 
mooriand  of  Hud  Head.  The  white  how  WAS  first  de- 
scribed by  the  S^antth  navigator,  (TUUaa,  after  whom 
it  is  named.  Its  explanation  can  only  be  briefly  in- 
dicated-here.  JUong  with  the  true  rainbow,  and  within 
it,  there  are  usually  produced  m  nnatbur  of  ether  bows, 
by  what  Dr.  Young  named  the  *  interference  of  light,' 
They  are  called  supernumerary  bows.  When  the  —ila 
drops  are  all  of  the  same  siae,  and  exceedingly  small, 


830  LIFE  IN  THE  ALPS. 

the  colours  of  these  bows  expand  and  overlap  each  other, 
producing  by  their  mixture  the  uncoloured  white  bow. 
We  sometimes  hear  of '  fog  bows,'  but  it  may  be  doubted 
whether  true  impalpable  fog  can  produce  a  bow.  At 
all  events,  we  may  have  very  dense  fogs  with  all  the 
conditions  of  light  necessary  for  producing  the  bowy 
without  its  appearance.  A  sensible  drizzle  must  be 
mixed  with  the  fog  when  the  bow  is  produced. 

On  the  occasion  to  which  I  have  referred, my  friend  and 
I  noticed  another  singular  phenomenon,  which  is  usually 
known  as  the  *  Spectre  of  the  Brocken.'  The  Brocken, 
or  Blocksberg,  is  a  mountain  in  Germany  rendered 
famous  by  the  poet  Goethe.  As  I  stood  with  my  back 
to  the  sinking  sun,  my  shadow  was  cast  on  the  fog 
before  me.  It  was  surrounded  by  a  coloured  halo. 
When  I  stood  beside  my  friend,  our  shadows  were 
seen  with  an  iridescent  fringe.  We  shook  our  heads  ; 
the  shadows  did  the  same.  We  raised  our  arms  and 
thrust  our  ice-axes  upwards ;  the  shadows  did  the  same. 
All  our  motions,  indeed,  were  imitated  by  the  shadows. 
They  appeared  like  gigantic  spectres  in  the  mist,  thus 
justifying  the  name  by  which  they  are  usually  known. 
The  combination  of  the  Brocken  spectre  and  white  bow 
constituted  a  most  striking  phenomenon. 


1889. 
ABOUT  COMMON  WATER* 

WE  have  already  spent  what  I  trust  has  proved  to 
you  an  agreeable  and  instructive  half-hour  over 
water  in  its  solid  form.  We  have  conversed  about  the 
behaviour  of  those  vast  collections  of  ice  which  go  by 
the  name  of  glaciers,  tracing  them  to  their  origin  in 
mountain  snow.  Closely  compacted,  but  still  retain- 
ing a  certain  power  of  motion,  the  snow  passes  from 
the  mountain-slopes  and  reservoirs  where  it  was  first 
collected  into  the  valleys,  through  which,  becoming 
more  and  more  compacted,  it  moves  as  a  river  of  ice. 
From  the  end  of  this  solid  river  always  rushes  a  liquid 
one,  rendered  turbid  by  the  fine  matter  ground  from 
the  rocks  during  the  descent  of  the  glacier.  An  effect 
which  I  thought  remarkable  when  I  first  saw  it  may 
be  worth  mentioning  here.  Thirty-two  years  ago  I 
followed  the  river  Khone  to  the  place  where  it  enters 
the  Lake  of  Geneva.  The  water  of  the  lake  is  known 
to  be  beautifully  blue,  and  I  fancied  beforehand  that 
the  admixture  of  the  water  of  the  Rhone  must  infal- 
libly render  the  lake  turbid.  To  my  surprise,  there 
was  no  turbidity  observable.  A  moment's  reflection 
rendered  the  reason  of  this  obvious.  The  Rhone  water, 
rushing  from  its  parent  glaciers,  was  colder,  and  there- 
fore heavier,  than  the  water  of  the  lake.  Instead  of 
mixing  with  the  latter,  it  sank  beneath  it,  disposing 
of  itself  along  the  bottom  of  the  lake,  and  leaving  the 
surface-water  with  its  delicate  azure  unimpaired. 

I  propose  now  to  talk  to  you  for  half  an  hour  about 

1  Written  for  The  Youth's  Companion. 
22 


832          ABOUT  COMMON  WATER. 

water  in  its  more  common  and  domestic  forms.  On 
the  importance  of  water  it  is  not  necessary  to  dwell, 
for  it  is  obvious  that  upon  its  presence  depends  the  lifu 
of  the  world.  As  an  article  of  human  diet,  its  impor- 
tance is  enormous.  Not  to  speak  of  fruits  and  vege- 
tables, and  confining  ourselves  to  flesh,  every  four 
])ounds  of  boneless  meat  purchased  at  the  butcher's  shop 
contain  about  three  pounds  of  water.  I  remember 
Mr.  Carlyle  once  describing  an  author,  who  was  making 
a  great  stir  at  the  time,  as  '  a  weak,  watery,  insipid 
creature.'  But,  in  a  literal  and  physical  sense,  we  are 
nil  '  watery.'  The  muscles  of  a  man  weighing  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  pounds  weigh,  when  moist,  sixty-four 
pounds,  but  of  these  nearly  fifty  pounds  are  mere 
water. 

It  is  not,  however,  of  the  water  compacted  in  the 
muscles  and  tissues  of  a  man  that  I  am  now  going  to 
speak,  but  of  the  ordinary  water  which  we  see  every- 
where around  us.  Whence  comes  our  drinking-water  ? 
A  little  reflection  might  enable  you  to  reply  : — 'If  you 
go  back  far  enough  you  will  find  that  it  comes  from 
the  clouds,  which  send  their  rain  down  upon  the  earth.' 
'But  how,'  it  may  be  asked,  'does  the  water  get  up 
into  the  cloud  region  ? '  Your  reply  will  probably  be, 
'  It  is  carried  up  by  evaporation  from  the  waters  of  the 
earth.' 

A  great  Roman  philosopher  and  poet,  named  Lucre- 
tius, wrote  much  about  atoms,  which  he  called  'the 
First  Beginnings.'  When  it  was  objected  that  nobody 
could  see  the  atoms,  he  reasoned  in  this  way : — '  Hang 
out  a  wet  towel  in  the  sun,  and  after  some  time  you 
will  find  that  all  the  water  has  gone  away.  But  you 
cannot  see  the  particles  of  the  water  that  has  thus  dis- 
appeared. Still,  it  is  perfectly  certain  that  the  water 
which,  when  put  into  the  towel,  could  be  seen,  and  felt, 


ABOUT  COMMON  WATER.  883 

and  tasted,  and  weighed,  must  have  escaped  from  the 
towel  in  this  invisible  way.  How,  then,  can  you  ex- 
pect me  to  show  you  the  atoms,  which,  as  they  are  the 
first  beginnings  of  things,  are  probably  much  smaller 
than  your  "  invisible  "  particles  of  water  ?  * 

In  this  invisible  state,  to  which  water  may  be  re 
duced,  it  is  called  aqueous  vapour. 

Let  it  then  be  admitted  that  water  rises  into  the 
air  by  evaporation ;  and  that  in  the  air  it  forms  the 
clouds  which  discharge  themselves  upon  us  as  rain, 
hail,  and  snow.  If  you  look  for  the  source  of  any  great 
American  river,  you  will  find  it  in  some  mountain-land, 
where,  in  its  infancy,  it  is  a  mere  stream.  Added  to, 
gradually,  by  other  tributary  streams,  it  becomes 
broader  and  deeper,  until  finally  it  reaches  the  noble 
magnitude  of  the  Mississippi  or  the  Ohio.  A  consider- 
able portion  of  the  rain-water  sinks  into  the  earth, 
trickles  through  its  pores  and  fissures,  coming  here  and 
there  to  light  as  a  pellucid  spring.  We  have  now  to 
consider  how  'spring- water'  is  affected  by  the  rocks,  or 
gravel,  or  sand,  or  soil,  through  which  it  passes. 

The  youths  who  choose  this  journal  for  a  'com- 
panion '  know  already  that  Mrs.  Tyndall  and  myself  are 
lovers  of  the  highlands.  I  tried  last  year  to  give  them 
some  notion  of  '  Life  in  the  Alps.'  Well,  here  in  Eng- 
land, Alpine  heights  are  not  attainable ;  but  we  have 
built  our  house  upon  the  highest  available  land  within 
two  hours'  of  London.  Thousands  of  acres  of  heather 
surround  us,  and  storms  visit  us  more  furious  than 
those  of  the  Alps.  The  reason  is,  that  we  are  here  on 
the  very  top  of  Hind  Head,  where  the  wind  can  sweep 
over  us  without  impediment. 

There  is  no  land  above  our  house,  and  therefore 
there  are  no  springs  at  hand  available  for  our  use. 
But  lower  down,  in  the  valleys,  the  springs  burst  forth, 


834  ABOUT  COMMON  WATER. 

providing  the  people  who  live  near  them  with  the 
brightest  and  purest  water.  These  happy  people  have 
all  my  land,  and  all  the  high  surrounding  land,  as  a 
collecting-ground,  on  which  the  rain  falls,  and  from 
which  it  trickles  through  the  body  of  the  hill,  to  appear 
at  lower  levels. 

What,  then,  am  I  obliged  to  do?  It  stands  to 
reason  that  if  I  could  bore  down  to  a  depth  lower  than 
the  springs,  the  water,  instead  of  flowing  to  them, 
would  come  to  me.  This  is  what  I  have  done.  I  have 
sunk  a  well  two  hundred  and  twenty-five  feet  deep,  and 
am  thereby  provided  with  an  unfailing  supply  of  the 
most  delicious  water. 

The  water  drawn  from  this  well  comes  from  what 
geologists  call  the  greensand.  Within  sight  of  my 
balcony  rise  the  well-known  South  Downs,  which  are 
hills  of  chalk  covered  with  verdure.  Now,  if  a  bucket 
of  water  were  taken  from  my  well,  and  a  similar  bucket 
from  a  well  in  the  South  Downs,  and  if  both  buckets 
were  handed  over  to  a  laundress,  she  would  have  no 
difficulty  in  telling  you  which  she  would  prefer.  With 
my  well-water  it  would  be  easy  to  produce  a  beautiful 
lather.  With  the  South  Downs  well-water  it  would  be 
very  difficult  to  do  so.  In  common  language,  the  one 
water  is  soft,  like  rain-water,  while  the  other  is  hard. 

We  have  now  to  analyse  and  understand  the  mean- 
ing of  '  hard  water/  and  to  examine  some  of  its  effects. 
Suppose,  then,  three  porcelain  basins  to  be  filled,  the 
first  with  pure  rain-water,  the  second  with  greensand- 
water,  and  the  third  with  chalk- water ;  all  three  waters 
at  first  being  equally  bright  and  transparent.  Suppose 
the  three  basins  placed  on  a  warm  hob,  or  even  exposed 
to  the  open  air,  until  the  water  of  each  basin  has  wholly 
evaparated.  In  evaporation  the  water  only  disappears ; 
the  mineral  matter  remains.  What,  then,  is  the  result  ? 


ABOUT  COMMON  WATER.  335 

In  the  rain-water  basin  you  have  nothing  left  behind ; 
in  the  greensand-water  basin  you  have  a  small  residue 
of  solid  mineral  matter  ;  in  the  chalk-water  basin  you 
have  a  comparatively  large  residue.  The  reason  of  this 
is  that  chalk  is  soluble  in  rain-water,  and  dissolves  in 
it,  like  sugar  or  salt,  though  to  a  far  less  extent ;  while 
the  water  of  my  well,  coming  from  the  greensand, 
which  is  hardly  soluble  at  all,  is  almost  as  soft  as  rain- 
water. 

The  simple  boiling  of  water  is  sufficient  to  precipi- 
tate a  considerable  portion  of  the  mineral  matter  dis- 
solved in  it.  One  familiar  consequence  of  this  is,  that 
kettles  and  boilers  in  which  hard  water  is  used  become 
rapidly  incrusted  within,  while  no  such  incrustation  is 
formed  by  soft  water.  Hot-water  pipes  are  sometimes 
choked  by  such  incrustation ;  and  the  boilers  of 
steamers  have  been  known  to  be  so  thickly  coated  as  to 
prevent  the  access  of  heat  to  the  water  within  them. 
Not  only  was  their  coal  thus  wasted,  but  it  has  been 
found  necessary  in  some  cases  to  burn  the  very  spars  in 
order  to  bring  the  steamers  into  port. 

There  is  no  test  of  the  presence  of  suspended  matter 
in  water  or  air  so  searching  and  powerful  as  a  beam  of 
light.  An  old  English  writer  touched  this  point  when 
he  said  : — *  The  sun  discovers  atomes,  though  they  be 
invisible  by  candle-light,  and  makes  them  dance  in 
his  beams.'  In  the  purest  water — it  may  be  filtered 
water;  it  may  be  artificially-distilled  water ;  it  may  be 
water  obtained  by  the  melting  of  the  purest  ice — a 
Enfficiently  strong  searching  beam  reveals  suspended 
matter.  I  have  done  my  best  to  get  rid  of  it,  but  can 
hardly  say  that  I  have  completely  succeeded. 

Differences  in  quantity  are,  however,  very  strikingly 
revealed.  When,  in  a  darkened  study,  I  send  a  con- 
centrated beam  through  our  well-water,  after  boiling, 


836          ABOUT  COMMON  WATER. 

it  appears  turbid  ;  sent  through  the  South  Downs  well- 
water,  it  appears  muddy,  so  great  is  the  quantity  of 
chalk  precipitated  by  the  boiling.  The  mere  exposure 
of  hard  water  to  the  open  air,  where  it  can  evaporate, 
softens  it  considerably,  by  the  partial  precipitation  of 
the  mineral  matter  which  it  held  in  solution. 

This  last  observation  is  important,  because  it  en- 
ables us  to  explain  many  interesting  and  beautiful 
effects.  In  chalybeate  springs,  iron  is  dissolved  in  the 
water.  Round  about  such  springs,  and  along  the  rivu- 
lets which  flow  from  them,  red  oxide  of  iron — iron  rust 
— is  precipitated  by  the  partial  evaporation  of  the 
water.  In  Iceland,  the  water  of  the  Great  Geyser  holds 
a  considerable  quantity  of  flint  or  silica  in  solution. 
By  a  most  curious  process  of  evaporation  this  silica,  as 
shown  by  Bunsen,  has  been  so  deposited  as  to  enable 
what  was  at  first  a  simple  spring  to  build  up,  gradually, 
the  wonderful  tube  of  the  Geyser,  which  is  seventy- 
four  feet  deep  and  ten  feet  across,  with  a  smooth  basin, 
sixty  feet  wide,  at  the  top. 

Again,  the  great  majority  of  our  grottos  and  caves 
are  in  limestone  rock,  which,  in  the  course  of  ages,  has 
been  dissolved  away  by  a  stream.  To  the  present  hour 
are  to  be  found,  in  most  of  these  caves,  the  streams 
which  made  them.  I  have  been  through  many  of  them, 
but  through  none  which  can  compare  in  beauty  with 
St.  Michael's  Cave  in  the  Eock  of  Gibraltar.  From 
the  roof  hang  tapering  stalactites,  like  pointed  spears. 
From  the  floor  rise  columnar  stalagmites.  The  stalac- 
tites gradually  lengthen,  while  the  stalagmites  gradu- 
ally rise.  In  numerous  cases  stalactite  and  stalagmite 
meet,  the  sharp  point  of  the  former  resting  upon  the 
broad  top  of  the  latter.  Columns  of  singular  beauty, 
reaching  from  floor  to  roof,  are  thus  formed.  Stalac- 
tites and  stalagmites  are  to  be  seen  in  all  phases  of  their 


ABOUT  COMMON  WATER.  837 

approach  towards  each  other;  from  the  little  spear, 
beginning  like  a  small  icicle  in  the  roof,  and  the  little 
mound  of  stalagmite  on  the  floor,  exactly  underneath, 
up  to  the  actual  contact  of  both.  The  pillars  and  spears, 
the  arches  and  corridors,  the  fantastic  stone  drapery, 
the  fretted  figures  on  the  walls — all  contribute  to  pro- 
duce an  effect  of  extraordinary  magnificence. 

What  is  the  cause  of  the  wonderful  architecture  and 
decoration  of  St.  Michael's  Cave  ?  Probably  some  of 
my  clever  readers  will  have  anticipated  both  this  ques- 
tion and  its  answer.  The  rain,  charged  with  its  modi- 
cum of  carbonic  acid  by  the  air,  falls  upon  the  limestone 
rock  overhead,  percolates  through  it,  dissolves  it,  and, 
thus  laden,  reaches  the  roof  of  the  cave.  Here  it  is 
exposed  to  evaporation.  The  dissolved  solid  is,  in  part, 
deposited,  and  the  base  of  the  stalactite  is  planted 
against  the  roof.  The  charged  water  continues  to  drip, 
and  the  stalactite  to  lengthen.  Escaping  from  the 
point  of  the  stalactite,  the  drop  falls  upon  the  floor, 
where  evaporation  continues,  and  mineral  matter  is  de- 
posited. The  stalagmite  rises ;  the  mound  becomes  a 
pillar,  towards  which  the  spear  overhead  accurately 
points,  until,  in  course  of  time,  they  unite  to  form  a 
column. 

A  similar  process  goes  on  over  the  fretted  walls.  They 
shine  with  the  water  passing  over  them.  Each  water- 
film  deposits  its  infinitesimal  load,  the  quantity  de- 
posited here  and  there  depending  on  the  inequalities  of 
the  surface,  which  cause  the  water  to  linger  longer,  and 
to  deposit  more  at  some  places  than  at  others. 

The  substance  most  concerned  in  the  production 
of  all  this  beauty  is  called  by  chemists  carbonate  of 
lime.  It  is  formed  by  the  union  of  carbonic  acid  and 
lime.  What  lime  is,  of  course,  you  already  know ;  its 
companion,  carbonic  acid,  is,  at  ordinary  temperatures, 


B3B  ABOUT  COMMON  WATER. 

a  very  heavy  gas.  It  effervesces  in  soda-water,  and  it 
constitutes  a  portion  of  the  breath  exhaled  from  the 
lungs.  The  weight  of  the  gas,  as  compared  with 
air,  may  be  accurately  determined  by  the  chemist's 
balance. 

But  its  weight  may  also  be  shown  in  the  following 
way.  Let  a  wide  glass  shade  be  turned  upside  down, 
and  filled  with  carbonic-acid  gas.  This  is  readily  done, 
though  when  done  you  do  not  see  the  gas.  Well,  iron 
sinks  in  water,  because  5t  is  heavier  than  water ;  it 
swims  on  mercury,  because  it  is  lighter  than  mercury. 
For  the  same  reason,  if  you  blow  a  soap-bubble  and 
dexterously  shake  it  off,  so  that  it  shall  fall  into  the 
glass  shade,  it  is  stopped  at  the  top  of  the  shade,  bob- 
bing up  and  down,  as  if  upon  an  invisible  elastic 
cushion.  The  light  air  floats  on  the  heavy  gas. 
Almost  any  other  acid,  poured  upon  chalk  or  marble, 
liberates  the  carbonic  acid.  Its  grasp  of  the  lime  is 
feeble,  and  easily  overcome.  When  we  dissolve  and 
mix  a  common  soda-powder,  the  tartaric  acid  turns  the 
weaker  carbonic  acid  out  of  doors. 

Many  natural  springs  of  carbonic  acid  have  been 
discovered,  one  of  which  I  should  like  to  introduce  to 
your  notice.  In  the  neighbourhood  of  the  city  of 
Naples  there  is  a  cave  called  the  Grotto  del  Cane,  a 
name  given  to  it  for  a  curious  and  culpable  reason. 
During  one  of  the  eruptions  of  Vesuvius  I  paid  a  visit, 
in  company  with  two  friends,  to  Naples,  and  went  to 
see,  among  the  other  sights  of  that  wonderful  region, 
the  Grotto  of  the  Dog.  At  a  place  adjacent  we  met  a 
guide  and  some  other  visitors.  At  the  heels  of  the 
guide  was  a  timid  little  quadruped,  which,  for  the  time 
being,  was  the  victim  that  gave  the  cave  its  name.  We 
could  walk  into  the  cave  without  inconvenience,  know- 
ing, at  the  same  time,  from  the  descriptions  we  had 


ABOUT  COMMON  WATER.  839 

lieard  and  read,  that  our  feet  were  plunged  in  a  stream 
of  heavy  carbonic  acid  flowing  along  the  bottom  of  the 
cave.  The  poor  little  dog,  much  against  its  will,  was 
brought  into  the  grotto.  The  stream  of  carbonic  acid 
was  not  deep  enough  to  cover  the  animal ;  its  master, 
accordingly,  pressed  its  head  under  the  suffocating  gas. 
It  struggled  for  a  time,  but  soon  became  motionless 
— apparently  lifeless.  Taken  into  the  air  outside, 
through  a  series  of  convulsions  painful  to  look  upon, 
it  returned  to  life. 

The  experiment  is  a  barbarous  one,  and  ought  not 
to  be  tolerated.  There  are  many  ways  of  satisfying 
the  curious,  without  cruelty  to  the  dog.  I  made  the 
following  experiment,  which  seemed  to  surprise  the  by- 
standers. Placing  a  burning  candle  near  the  bottom 
of  my  hat,  in  the  open  air  outside  the  cave,  I  borrowed 
a  cap,  and  by  means  of  it  ladled  up  the  heavy  gas. 
Pouring  it  from  the  cap  into  the  hat,  the  light  was 
quenched  as  effectually  as  if  water  had  been  poured 
upon  it.  Made  with  glass  jars  instead  of  hats,  this  is  a 
familiar  laboratory  experiment. 

We  must  now  proceed  slowly  forward,  making  our 
footing  sure  as  we  advance.  Lime  is  sparingly  soluble 
in  water,  giving  it  a  strong  acrid  taste.  Lime-water 
is  as  clear  as  ordinary  water ;  the  eye  discerns  no  differ- 
ence between  them.  And  now  I  want  to  point  out  to 
you  one  of  the  ways  in  which  the  carbonate  of  lime, 
which  we  have  been  speaking  of,  may  be  formed. 

I  suppose  you  to  have  before  you  a  tumbler,  or 
beaker,  filled  with  clear  lime-water.  By  means  of  a 
pair  of  bellows,  to  the  nozzle  of  which  a  glass  tube  is 
attached,  you  can  cause  pure  air  to  bubble  through  the 
lime-water.  It  continues  clear.  You  have  been  just 
informed  that  the  breath  exhaled  from  the  lungs  con- 
tains carbonic  acid,  and  if  this  acid  be  brought  into 


840  ABOUT  COMMON  WATER. 

contact  with  lime,  carbonate  of  lime  will  be  formed. 
Knowing  this,  you  can  make  the  following  experi- 
ment : — Drawing  your  breath  inward  so  as  to  fill  your 
lungs,  you  breathe,  by  means  of  a  glass  tube,  through 
the  lime-water.  Before  you  have  emptied  your  lungs  the 
clear  lime-water  will  have  become  quite  milky,  the  milki- 
ness  being  due  to  fine  particles  of  carbonate  of  lime — 
otherwise  chalk — formed  by  the  union  of  the  carbonic 
acid  of  your  breath  with  the  lime  of  the  water. 

Take  a  well-corked  champagne-bottle,  from  which 
the  wine  has  been  half  removed,  but  which  still  re- 
tains, above  the  remaining  wine,  a  quantity  of  carbonic- 
acid  gas.  It  is  easy  to  devise  a  means  of  causing  this 
gas  to  bubble  through  lime-water.  A  heavy  white  pre- 
cipitate of  chalk  is  immediately  formed. 

We  now  come  to  a  point  of  great  practical  impor- 
tance. The  carbonate  of  lime  exists  in  two  forms: 
the  simple  carbonate,  of  which  chalk  is  an  example, 
which  embraces  a  certain  amount  of  carbonic  acid  ;  and 
the  bicarbonate,  which  contains  twice  as  much.  But 
the  bicarbonate  is  far  more  soluble  in  water  than  the 
simple  carbonate.  Pure  water  dissolves  only  an  ex- 
tremely small  quantity  of  the  simple  carbonate  of  lime. 
But  carbonic  acid  is  sparingly  diffused  everywhere 
throughout  our  atmosphere,  and  rain-water  always 
carries  with  it,  from  the  air,  an  amount  of  carbonic 
acid,  which  converts  the  simple  carbonate  of  the  chalk 
into  the  bicarbonate,  of  which  it  can  dissolve  a  con- 
siderable quantity.  Every  gallon  of  water,  for  example, 
taken  from  the  chalk  contains  more  than  twenty  grains 
of  the  dissolved  mineral. 

By  boiling,  or  by  evaporation,  this  bicarbonate  is 
re-converted  into  the  insoluble  carbonate,  which  renders 
our  flasks  of  boiled  chalk-water  turbid,  forms  incrusta- 
tions in  our  kettles,  and  deposits  itself  as  stalactites  and 


ABOUT  COMMON  WATER.  841 

stalagmites  in  our  limestone  caves.  But  there  ia 
another  way  of  converting  the  bicarbonate  into  the 
carbonate,  which  is  well  worthy  of  our  attention.  It 
will  show  how  a  man  of  science  thinks  before  he  ex- 
periments, and  how,  by  experiment,  he  afterwards 
verifies  his  thought.  Bearing  in  mind  that  the  chalk- 
springs  hold  lime  in  solution  as  bicarbonate,  it  is  plain 
that  if  we  could  rob  this  bicarbonate  of  half  its  car- 
bonic acid,  we  should  reduce  it  to  the  simple  carbonate, 
which  is  almost  wholly  insoluble. 

Think  the  matter  over  a  little.  What  we  have  to 
combat  is  an  excess  of  carbonic  acid.  Lime-water,  with- 
out any  carbonic  acid,  is  easily  prepared.  Suppose, 
then,  that  we  add  to  our  chalk-water,  with  its  double 
dose  of  carbonic  acid,  some  pure  lime-water;  what 
would  you  expect?  You  would,  at  all  events,  think  it 
probable  that  the  bicarbonate  of  the  chalk-water  would 
give  up  its  excess  of  carbonic  acid  to  the  lime,  and 
assume  the  condition  of  the  simple  carbonate,  which, 
because  of  its  insolubility,  would  be  precipitated  as  a 
white  powder  in  the  water.  And,  because  chalk  is 
heavier  than  water,  you  would  conclude  that  the  powder 
would  sink  to  the  bottom,  leaving  a  clear,  softened 
water  overhead.  Thus  reasoned  Dr.  Clark,  of  Aberdeen, 
when  he  invented  his  beautiful  process  of  softening 
water  on  a  large  scale.  I  have  myself  seen  the  process 
applied  with  success  in  various  chalk-districts  in 
England. 

Let  us  make  a  calculation.  Every  pound  of  chalk 
contains  nine  ounces  of  lime  and  seven  ounces  of  car- 
bonic acid.  Dissolved  by  rain-water,  this  simple 
carbonate  becomes  bicarbonate,  where  every  nine 
ounces  of  lime  combine  with  fourteen  ounces  of  car- 
bonic acid.  If,  then,  a  quantity  of  pure  lime-water 
containing  nine  ounces  of  lime  be  added  to  these 


842          ABOUT  COMMON  WATER. 

twenty-three  ounces  of  bicarbonate  solution,  the  lime 
will  seize  upon  seven  ounces  of  the  fourteen,  and  form 
two  pounds  of  the  nearly  insoluble  carbonate.  In  other 
words,  nine  ounces  of  lime  can  precipitate  thirty-two 
ounces  of  chalk.  Counting  thus  on  a  large  scale,  we 
find  that  a  single  ton  of  lime,  dissolved  in  lime-water, 
suffices  to  precipitate  three  and  a-half  tons  of  the  simple 
carbonate. 

Let  me  now  describe  to  you  what  I  saw  at  Canter- 
bury, where  works  for  the  softening  of  water  were 
constructed  by  the  late  Mr.  Homersham,  civil  engineer. 
I  found  there  three  reservoirs,  each  capable  of  contain- 
ing one  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  gallons  of  water. 
There  was  also  a  fourth,  smaller  cistern,  containing  water 
aud  lime  in  that  state  of  fine  division  which  is  called 
'  cream  of  lime.'  The  mixture  of  water  and  lime  is 
violently  stirred  up  by  currents  of  air  driven  through 
it.  Brought  thus  into  intimate  contact  with  every 
particle,  the  water  soon  takes  up  all  the  lime  it  can 
dissolve.  The  mixture  is  then  allowed  to  stand ;  the 
solid  lime  falls  to  the  bottom,  and  the  pure  lime-water 
collects  overhead. 

The  softening  process  begins  by  introducing  a 
measured  quantity  of  this  lime-water  into  one  of  the 
larger  cisterns.  The  hard  water,  pumped  directly  from 
the  chalk,  is  then  permitted  to  fill  the  cistern.  When 
they  come  together,  the  two  clear  liquids  form  a  kind 
of  thin  whitewash,  which  is  permitted  to  remain  quiet 
lor  twelve  or,  still  better,  for  twenty-four  hours.  The 
carbonate  of  lime  sinks  to  the  bottom  of  the  reservoir, 
covering  it  as  a  fine  white  powder ;  while  above  it  is  a 
water  of  extreme  softness  and  transparency,  and  of  the 
most  delicate  blue  colour.  This  water  harbours  no 
organisms.  Properly  conducted  to  our  homes,  no  in- 
fectious fever  could  ever  be  propagated  by  such  water. 


ABOUT  COMMON  WATER.          843 

Blue  is  the  natural  colour  of  both  water  and  ice. 
On  the  glaciers  of  Switzerland  are  found  deep  shafts 
and  lakes  of  beautifully  blue  water.  The  most  striking 
example  of  the  colour  of  water  is  probably  that  furnished 
by  the  Blue  Grotto  of  Capri,  in  the  Bay  of  Naples. 
Capri  is  one  of  the  islands  of  the  Bay.  At  the  bottom 
of  one  of  its  sea-cliffs  there  is  a  small  arch,  barely 
sufficient  to  admit  a  boat  in  fine  weather,  and  through 
this  arch  you  pass  into  a  spacious  cavern,  the  walls  and 
water  of  which  shimmer  forth  a  magical  blue  light. 
This  light  has  caught  its  colour  from  the  water  through 
which  it  has  passed.  The  entrance,  as  just  stated,  is 
very  small ;  so  that  the  illumination  of  the  cave  is 
almost  entirely  due  to  light  which  has  plunged  to  the 
bottom  of  the  sea,  and  returned  thence  to  the  cave. 
Hence  the  exquisite  azure.  The  white  body  of  a  diver 
who  plunges  into  the  water  for  the  amusement  of 
visitors  is  also  strikingly  affected  by  the  coloured 
liquid  through  which  he  moves. 

Water  yields  so  freely  to  the  hand  that  you  might 
suppose  it  to  be-  easily  squeezed  into  a  smaller  space. 
That  this  is  not  the  case  was  proved  more  than  two 
hundred  and  sixty  years  ago  by  Lord  Bacon.  He  filled 
a  hollow  globe  of  lead  with  the  liquid,  and,  soldering  up 
the  aperture,  tried  to  flatten  the  globe  by  the  blows  of 
a  heavy  hammer.  He  continued  hammering  '  till  the 
water,  impatient  of  further  pressure,  exuded  through 
the  solid  lead  like  a  fine  dew.'  Water  was  thus  proved 
to  offer  an  immense  resistance  to  compression.  Nearly 
fifty  years  afterwards,  a  similar  experiment,  with  the 
same  result,  was  made  by  the  members  of  the  Academy 
Del  Cimento  in  Florence.  They,  however,  used  a  globe 
of  silver  instead  of  a  globe  of  lead.  This  experiment  is 
everywhere  known  as  *  the  Florentine  experiment ' ; 


844  ABOUT  COMMON  WATER. 

but  Ellis  and  Spedding,  the  eminent  biographers  of 
Bacon,  have  clearly  shown  that  it  ought  to  be  called 
*  the  Baconian  experiment.' 

This  stubbornness  of  water  in  the  liquid  condition 
has  a  parallel  in  its  irresistible  force  when  passing  from 
the  liquid  into  the  solid  state.  Water  expands  in 
solidifying ;  and  ice  floats  on  water  in  consequence  of 
this  expansion.  The  wreck  of  rocks  upon  the  summits 
of  some  mountains  is  extraordinary.  Scawfell  Pike  in 
England,  and  the  Eggischhorn  and  Sparrenhorn  in 
Switzerland,  are  cases  in  point.  Under  the  guise  of 
freezing  water,  a  giant  stone-breaker  has  been  at  work 
upon  these  heights.  By  his  remorseless  power,  even 
the  great  and  fatal  pyramid  of  the  Matterhorn  is 
smashed  and  riven  from  top  to  bottom.  I  once  lay  in 
a  tent  for  a  night  near  a  gully  of  the  Matterhorn,  and 
heard  all  night  long  the  thunderous  roar  of  the  stone- 
avalanches  which  sweep  incessantly  down  this  mountain. 

On  the  slopes  surrounding  our  Alpine  home  we  find 
heaps  and  mounds,  where  slabs  and  blocks  are  piled 
together  in  apparent  confusion.  But  we  soon  come  to 
the  sure  and  certain  conclusion  that  these  severed  pieces 
are  but  parts  of  a  once  coherent  rock,  which  has  been 
shattered  by  the  freezing  of  water  in  its  fissures  and  its 
pores. 

When  the  ?evered  masses  are  large,  they  are  some- 
times left  poised  as  '  rocking-stones.'  A  favourite 
excursion  of  ours  in  Switzerland  takes  us  along  a  noble 
glacier,  to  the  base  of  the  great  final  pyramid  of  the 
Aletschhorn.  There,  a  few  years  ago,  was  to  be  found 
a  huge  rock,  with  a  horizontal  upper  surface  so  spacious 
that  twenty  of  us  have  sometimes  lunched  upon  it 
together.  Literally  as  well  as  technically,  it  was  a 
noble  '  glacier-table.'  That  great  boulder,  of  apparently 
iron  strength,  is  now  reduced  to  fragments  by  the 


ABOUT  COMMON  WATER.  845 

universal  pulveriser — freezing  water.  I  say  pulveriser ; 
for,  over  and  above  its  work  of  destruction  upon  the 
mountains,  has  it  not  disintegrated  the  bare  rocks 
of  the  ancient  earth,  and  thus  produced  the  soils 
which  constitute  the  bases  of  the  whole  vegetable 
world  ? 

When  water  passes  from  the  liquid  to  the  solid 
condition,  it  is  usually  by  a  process  of  architecture  so 
refined  as  to  baffle  our  most  powerful  microscopes. 
I  never  observe  without  wonder  this  crystalline 
architecture.  Look  at  it  on  the  window-panes,  or  on 
the  flags  over  which  you  walk  on  a  frosty  morning. 
Nothing  can  exceed  the  beauty  of  the  branching  forms 
that  overspread  the  chilled  surfaces.  Look  at  the 
feathery  plumes  that  sometimes  sprout  from  wood,  or 
cloth,  or  porous  stones.  The  reflecting  mind  cannot 
help  receiving  from  this  definite  grouping  and  ordering 
of  the  ultimate  particles  of  matter  suggestions  of  the 
most  profound  significance. 

Many  months  ago  I  read  a  stanza  from  your  de- 
lightful poet,  Bryant,  wherein  he  refers  to  the  *  stars  ' 
of  snow.  Those  stellar  forms  of  falling  snow  repeat 
themselves  incessantly.  I  have  seen  the  Alps  in  mid- 
winter laden  with  these  fallen  stars ;  and  three  or  four 
days  ago,  they  showered  their  beauty  down  upon  me  in 
England.  Dr.  Scoresby  observed  them  in  the  Arctic 
regions,  and  Mr.  Glashier  has  made  drawings  of  them 
nearer  home. 

The  ice-crystal  is  hexagonal  in  form,  and  the  snow- 
stars  invariably  shoot  forth  six  rays.  The  hexagonal 
architecture  is  carried  on  in  the  formation  of  common 
ice.  Some  years  ago  I  set  a  large  lens  in  the  sun,  and 
brought  the  solar  rays  to  a  focus  in  the  air.  I  then 
placed  a  slab  of  pure  ice  across  the  convergent  beam. 


846  ABOUT  COMMON  WATER. 

Sparks  of  light,  apparently  generated  by  the  beam, 
immediately  appeared  along  its  track. 

Examining  the  ice  afterwards  with  a  magnifying- 
lens,  I  found  that  every  one  of  those  brilliant  points 
constituted  the  centre,  or  nucleus,  of  a  beautiful  liquid 
flower  of  six  petals.  There  was  no  deviation  from  this 
number,  because  it  was  inexorably  bound  up  with  the 
crystalline  form  of  the  ice. 

Thus,  in  a  region  withdrawn  from  the  inattentive 
eye,  we  find  ourselves  surprised  and  fascinated  by  the 
methods  of  Nature. 


1890. 
PERSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THOMAS 


IT  is  an  age  of  '  Reminiscences  '  ;  known  to  me,  in 
great  part,  through  extracts  and  reviews.  Pleasant 
reading,  in  their  fulness,  many  of  these  records  must 
surely  be.  Carlyle  has  given  us  his  *  Reminiscences  '  — 
written,  alas  I  when  he  was  but  the  hull  of  the  true 
Carlyle.  Still,  methinks  the  indignation  thereby  aroused 
was  out  of  proportion  to  the  offence.  It  is  not,  how- 
ever, my  task  or  duty  to  defend  the  *  Reminiscences.' 
In  clearer  and  happier  moments,  Carlyle  himself  would 
have  recoiled  from  publishing  their  few  offending  pages. 
When  they  were  written,  all  things  were  seen  by  him 
through  the  medium  of  personal  suffering,  physical 
and  mental.  This  lurid  atmosphere  defaced,  blurred, 
and  sometimes  inverted  like  mirage,  his  coast-line  of 
memory.  The  figure  of  himself,  standing  on  that 
quivering  and  delusive  shore,  has  suffered  more  from 
the  false  refraction  than  anything  else.  With  the 
piercing  insight  which  belonged  to  him  all  this,  in 
healthier  hours,  would  have  been  seen,  weighed,  and 
rectified  by  Carlyle  himself. 

Vast  is  the  literature  which  has  grown  around  the 
memory  of  this  man.  It  is  not  my  desire,  or  intention, 
to  sensibly  augment  its  volume.  I  wish  merely  to  con- 
tribute a  few  memorial  notes  which  I  am  unwilling  to 
let  die,  but  which,  in  presence  of  what  has  gone  before, 
are  but  as  a  pebble  dropped  upon  the  summit  of  a  tor. 

1  Written  for  the  most  part  from  memory  in  the  Alps,  1889,  and 
published  in  the  Fortnightly  Review.  January.  1890. 

23 


348  PERSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  OF 

There  are  amongst  us  eminent  men  who  knew  Cartyle 
longer,  and  who  saw  him  oftener,  than  I  did — whose 
store  of  memories  is  therefore  fax  larger  than  mine. 
But  it  was  my  fortune,  during  some  of  the  most  im- 
pressive phases  of  his  life,  to  be  very  close  to  him  ;  and 
though  my  visits  to  his  home  in  Chelsea,  and  our  com- 
mon rambles  in  London  and  elsewhere,  were,  to  my 
present  keen  regret^  far  fewer  than  either  of  us  wished 
them  to  be,  they  gave  me  some  knowledge  of  his  inner  life 
and  character.  Better  however  than  in  any  formal  record, 
that  life  is  to  be  sought  and  found  in  his  imperishable 
works.  There  we  best  see  the  storm  of  his  passion,  the 
depth  of  his  pity,  the  vastness  of  his  knowledge — his 
humour,  his  tenderness,  his  wisdom,  his  strength.  As 
long  as  men  continue  capable  of  appreciating  what  is 
highest  in  literary  achievement,  these  works  must  hold 
their  own. 

When,  before  a  group  of  distinguished  and  stead- 
fast friends,  the  statue  of  Carlyle  was  unveiled  on  t  he 
Thames  Embankment,  I  briefly  referred  to  my  first 
acquaintance  with  his  works.  'Past  and  Present,'  the 
astonishing  product  of  seven  weeks'  fierce  labour  in  the 
early  part  of  the  year,  was  published  in  1843;  and 
soon  after  its  publication  I  met  some  extracts  from  the 
work  in  the  Preston  newspapers.  I  chanced,  indeed, 
to  be  an  eve-witness  of  the  misery  which  at  that  time 
so  profoundly  moved  Carlyle.  With  their  hands  in 
their  pockets,  with  nothing  in  their  stomachs,  but 
with  silent  despair  fermenting  in  their  hearts,  the 
'hunger-stricken,  pallid,  yellow-coloured'  weavers  of 
Preston  and  the  neighbourhood  stalked  moodily  through 
the  streets.  Their  discontent  rose  at  length  to  riot, 
and  some  of  them  were  shot  down.  Such  were  the 
circumstances  under  which  Carlyle  appealed  to  Exeter 


THOMAS  CARLYLE.  849 

ITall,  with  its  schemes  of  beneficence  for  aborigines 
tar  away,  'These  yellow- coloured  for  the  present 
absorb  all  my  sympathies.  If  I  had  a  twenty  millions 
with  model  farms  and  Niger  expeditions,  it  is  to  them 
I  would  give  it.'  Under  the  same  circumstances  he 
warned  his  *  Corn-lawing  friends '  that  they  were  driving 
into  the  frenzy  of  Socialism  'every  thinking  man  in 
England.'  .  With  my  memory  of  the  Preston  riots  still 
vivid,  I  procured  '  Past  and  Present,'  and  read  it  per- 
severingly.  It  was  far  from  easy  reading ;  but  I  found 
in  it  strokes  of  descriptive  power  unequalled  in  my 
experience,  and  thrills  of  electric  splendour  which 
carried  me  enthusiastically  on.  I  found  in  it,  more- 
over, in  political  matters,  a  morality  so  righteous,  a 
radicalism  so  high,  reasonable,  and  humane,  as  to  make 
it  clear  to  me  that  without  truckling  to  the  ape  and 
tiger  of  the  mob,  a  man  might  hold  the  views  of  a 
radical. 

The  first  perusal  of  the  work  gave  me  but  broken 
gleams  of  its  scope  and  aim.  I  therefore  read  it  a 
second  time,  and  a  third.  At  each  successive  reading 
my  grasp  of  the  writer's  views  became  stronger  and 
my  vision  clearer.  But  even  three  readings  did  not 
satisfy  me.  After  the  last  of  them,  I  collected  econo- 
mically some  old  sheets  of  foolscap,  and  wrote  out 
thereupon  an  analytical  summary  of  every  chapter. 
When  the  work  was  finished  I  tied  the  loose  sheets 
together  with  a  bit  of  twine  and  stowed  them  away. 

For  many  years  they  remained  hidden  from  me.  I 
had  passed  through  the  railway  madness  of  the  '  forties,' 
emerging  sane  from  the  delirium.  I  bad  studied  in 
Germany,  had  lectured  at  the  Rojal  Institution,  and 
in  1853  had  been  appointed  its  Professor  of  Natural 
Philosophy.  For  fifteen  years  I  had  enjoyed  the 
friendship  of  Faraday,  whose  noble  and  illustrious  life 


350  PERSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  0? 

came  to  an  end  in  1867,  on  Hampton  Court  Green. 
Keverently,  but  reluctantly,  I  took  his  place  as  Super- 
intendent of  the  Royal  Institution,  vastly  preferring, 
if  it  could  have  been  so  arranged,  to  leave  Mrs.  Fara- 
day in  undisturbed  possession  of  the  rooms  which  had 
been  her  happy  home  for  six-and-forty  years.  The 
thing,  however,  could  not  be.  On  returning  from  one 
of  my  Alpine  expeditions  I  found  at  the  entrance  of 
the  place  which  had  been  occupied  successively  by 
Davy  and  Faraday,  my  name  upon  the  wall.  It  was 
to  me  more  of  a  shock  than  a  satisfaction. 

The  change,  however,  brought  me  nearer  to  Carlyle; 
and  to  Albemarle  Street  from  time  to  time  he  wended 
his  way  to  see  me.  Once  he  found  me  occupied,  not 
with  a  problem  of  physics,  but  with  a  question  of  biology 
of  fundamental  import.  The  origin  of  life  was,  is,  and 
ever  will  be,  a  question  of  profoundest  interest  to 
thoughtful  men.  In  the  early  *  seventies '  I  was  busy 
experimenting  on  this  question,  my  desire  being  to 
bring  to  bear  upon  it  physical  methods  which  should 
make  known  the  unmistakable  verdict  of  science  re- 
garding it,  and  thus  abolish  the  doubt  and  confusion 
then  existing.  Permitting  air  to  purify  itself  by  the 
subsidence  of  all  floating  motes,  so  that  the  track 
through  it  of  a  sunbeam,  even  when  powerfully  concen- 
trated, was  invisible,  infusions  of  meat,  fish,  fowl,  and 
vegetables  were  exposed  to  such  air  and  found  inca- 
pable of  putrefaction.  The  vital  oxygen  was  still  there; 
but  with  the  floating  motes,  the  seminal  matter  of  the 
atmosphere  had  vanished,  and  with  it  the  power  of 
generating  putrefactive  organisms.  The  organisms,  in 
other  words,  required  the  antecedent  seed — there  waft 
no  spontaneous  generation.  By  means  of  gas  stoves 
rooms  had  been  raised  to  the  proper  temperature,  and 
into  one  of  these  rooms,  which  was  stocked  with  my 


THOMAS  CARLYLE.  851 

noteless  chambers,  I  took  Mr.  Carlyle.  He  listened 
with  profound  attention  to  the  explanation  of  the  ex- 
periments. They  were  quite  new  to  him ;  for  microbes^ 
bacilli,  and  bacteria  were  not  then  the  household  words 
which  they  are  now.  I  could  notice  amazement  in  his 
eyes  as  we  passed  from  putrefaction  to  antiseptic 
surgery,  and  from  it  to  the  germ  theory  of  communi- 
cable disease.  To  Carlyle  life  was  wholly  mystical — - 
incapable  of  explanation — and  the  conclusion  to  which 
the  experiments  pointed,  that  life  was  derived  from 
antecedent  life,  and  was  not  generated  from  dead 
matter,  fell  in  with  his  notions  of  the  fitness  of  things. 
Instead,  therefore,  of  repelling  him,  the  experiments 
gave  him  pleasure. 

After  quitting  the  laboratory  I  took  my  guest  up- 
stairs, and  placed  him  in  an  armchair  in  front  of  a 
cheerful  fire.  The  weather  was  cold,  and  I  therefore 
prepared  for  him  a  tumbler  of  mulled  claret.  And 
now  we  arrive  at  the  cause  which  induces  me  to  speak 
thus  early  of  a  late  event.  About  a  fortnight  prior  to 
this  visit,  while  rummaging  through  a  mass  of  ancient 
papers,  I  had  come  upon  the  long-lost  sheets  of  foolscap 
which  contained  my  analysis  and  summary  of  the  various 
chapters  of  '  Past  and  Present.'  The  packet,  tied  with 
twine  as  aforesaid,  and  bearing  the  yellow  tints  of  age, 
lay  in  an  adjacent  drawer.  At  length  I  said  to  him, 
'  Now  you  shall  see  something  that  will  interest  and 
amuse  you.'  I  took  the  ragged  sheets  from  the  drawer, 
told  him  what  they  were  and  how  they  had  originated, 
and  read  aloud  some  of  the  passages  which  had  kindled 
me  when  young.  He  listened,  sometimes  clinching  a 
paragraph  by  a  supplement  or  ratification,  but  fre- 
quently breaking  forth  into  loud  and  mellow  laughter 
at  his  own  audacity.  It  would  require  gifts  greater 
even  than  those  of  Boswell  to  reproduce  Carlyle.  I 


352  PERSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  OF 

think  it  was  my  sagacious  friend,  Lady  Stanley  of  AlJer- 
ley,  who  once  remarked  to  me  that  in  the  reported 
utterances  of  Carlyle  we  miss  the  deep  peal  which 
rounded  off  and  frequently  gave  significance  to  all  that 
had  gone  before.1  Our  fun  over  the  eviscerated  '  Past 
and  Present '  continued  for  some  time,  after  which  it 
ceased,  and  an  expression  of  solemn  earnestness  over- 
spread the  features  of  the  old  man.  *  Well,'  he  said  at 
length,  in  a  voice  touched  with  emotion,  '  what  greater 
reward  could  I  have  than  to  find  an  ardent  young  soul, 
unknown  to  me,  and  to  whom  I  was  personally  un- 
known, thus  influenced  by  my  words.'  We  continued 
our  chat  in  a  spirit  of  deeper  earnestness,  and  after  he 
had  exhausted  his  goblet  we  walked  together  down 
Albemarle  Street  to  Piccadilly,  his  tough  old  arm 
encircling  mine.  There  I  saw  him  safely  seated  in  a 
Krompton  omnibus,  which  was  his  usual  mode  of  loco- 
motion. When  he  was  inside  every  conductor  knew 
that  he  carried  a  great  man. 

All  this  was  late  in  the  day  of  my  acquaintance 
with  Carlyle.  I  first  saw  him,  and  heard  his  voice,  in 
the  picture  gallery  of  Bath  House,  Piccadilly.  I 
noticed  the  Scottish  accent,  not  harsh  or  crabbed  as  it 
sometimes. is,  but  rich  and  pleasant,  which  clung  to  him 
throughout  his  life,  as  it  did  also  to  Mrs.  Somerville.  I 
first  became  really  acquainted  with  him  at  the  '  Grange, 
the  Hampshire  residence  of  the  accomplished  and 
high-minded  Lord  Ashburton.  Sitting  beside  him  at 
luncheon,  I  spoke  to  him,  and  he  answered  me  bluntly. 
James  Spedding  was  present,  and  to  render  myself  sure 
of  his  identity  I  asked  Carlyle,  in  a  low  voice,  whether 
the  gentleman  opposite  was  not  Speddiug  ?  «  Yes,'  he 

1  From  Dr.  Garnet's  excellent  Life  of  Carlyle  I  lean?  that  Mr» 
Allingham  had  also  drawn  attention  to  this  point. 


THOMAS  CAELYLE.  853 

replied  aloud,  'that's  Spedding.'  He  had  no  notion 
of  tolerating  a  confidential  whisper.  The  subject  of 
homoeopathy  was  introduced.  Carlyle's  appreciation  of 
the  relation  of  cause  and  effect  was  as  sharp  and  clear 
as  that  of  any  physicist ;  and  he  thought  homoeopathy 
an  outrageous  defiance  of  the  proportion  which  must 
subsist  between  them.  I  sought  to  offer  an  explanation 
of  the  alleged  effects  of  *  infinitesimals,'  by  reference 
to  the  asserted  power  of  the  Alpine  muleteer's  bell  to 
bring  down  an  avalanche.  If  the  snow  could  be  loosened 
by  a  force  so  small,  it  was  because  it  was  already  upon 
the  verge  of  slipping.  And  if  homoeopathic  globules 
had  any  sensible  effect,  it  must  be  because  the  patient 
was  on  the  brink  of  a  change  which  they  merely  precipi- 
tated. Carlyle,  however,  would  listen  to  neither  defence 
nor  explanation.  He  deemed  homoeopathy  a  delusion, 
and  those  who  practised  it  professionally  impostors. 
He  raised  his  voice  so  as  to  drown  remonstrance ;  while 
a  '  tsh ! '  with  which  Mrs.  Carlyle  sometimes  sought 
to  quiet  him,  was  here  interposed.  Casting  homoeo- 
pathy overboard,  he  spoke  appreciatively  of  George  III. 
The  capacity  of  the  King  was  small,  but  he  paid  out 
conscientiously  the  modicum  of  knowledge  he  possessed. 
This  was  illustrated  by  the  way  in  which  he  collected 
his  library,  always  seeking  the  best  advice  and  pur- 
chasing the  best  books.  Carlyle's  respect  for  conscien- 
tiousness and  earnestness  extended  to  all  things.  We 
once  went  together  to  an  exhibition  of  portraits  at 
South  Kensington.  Pausing  before  the  portrait  of 
Queen  Mary  (Bloody  Mary,  as  we  had  been  taught  to 
call  her),  he  musingly  said,  *  A  well-abused  woman, 
l»  it  by  no  means  a  bad  woman — rather,  I  should  say,  a 
good  woman — acting  according  to  her  lights.'  He 
ought,  perhaps,  to  have  extended  the  same  tolerance  to 
Ignatius  Loyola,  whom  he  abhorred  and  scathed.  In  the 


354  PEKSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  OF 

evening,  while  we  stood  before  the  drawing-room  fire,  1 
spoke  to  him  of  Emerson.  There  was  something  lofty 
in  the  tone  of  Carlyle's  own  voice  as  be  spoke  of  the 
'  loftiness  '  of  his  great  American  friend.1  I  mentioned 
Lewes's  life  of  Goethe,  which  I  had  been  just  reading, 
and  ventured  to  express  a  doubt  whether  Lewes,  as  a 
man,  was  strong  enough  to  grapple  with  his  subject. 
He  was  disposed  to  commend  the  Life  as  the  best  we 
had,  but  he  was  far  from  regarding  it  as  adequate. 
Oarlyle  was  a  bold  rider,  and  during  this  visit  to  the 
Grange  he  indulged  in  some  wild  galloping.  Professor 
Hofmann  was  his  companion,  and  he  humorously  de- 
scribed their  motion  as  tantamount  to  being  shot  like 
a  projectile  through  space.  Brookfield  was  one  of  the 
guests,  a  clergyman  of  grace  and  culture,  who  might 
have  been  a  great  actor,  and  who  entertained  a  high 
notion  of  the  actor's  vocation.  One  evening  he  gave  us 
an  illustration  of  his  dramatic  gifts — extemporising,  and 
drawing  by  oblique  references,  the  principal  person- 
ages round  him  into  his  performance.  It  was  then  I 
first  heard  the  resonant  laugh  ot  Carlyle.  Himself  a 
humourist  on  a  high  plane,  he  keenly  enjoyed  humour 
in  others.  Lady  Ashburton,  with  fine  voice  and  ex- 
pression, read  for  us  one  of  Browning's  poems.  It  was 
obvious  from  his  ejaculatory  remarks  that  Carlyle 
enjoyed  and  admired  Browning. 

As  time  went  on  I  drew  more  closely  to  Carlyle, 

1  Their  friendship  continued  unimpaired  to  the  end.  Not  long 
before  Carlyle's  death,  I  noticed  two  volumes  of  the  same  shape  and 
binding  on  the  table  of  his  sitting-room.  Opening  one  of  them,  I 
found  written  on  the  fly-leaf  : — 

1  To  Thomas  Carlyle 

'with  unchangeable  affection 

'  from  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson.' 

The  two  volumes  were  Emerson's  own  collected  works.  '  That,'  I 
said,  'is  as  it  ought  to  be:  you  and  Emerson  must,  remain  friends  to 
th«-  last.'  'Aye.'  he  responded,  'you  are  quite  right;  take  th« 
relume.*  with  you,  but  return  them  punctually';  which  J  did. 


THOMAS  CAELYLE.  353 

seeking,  among  other  things,  to  remove  all  prejudice 
by  making  clear  to  him  the  spirit  in  which  the  highest 
scientific  minds  pursued  their  work.  They  could  not 
detach  themselves  from  their  fellow-men,  but  history 
showed  that  they  thought  less  of  worldly  profit  and 
applause,  and  practised  more  of  self-denial  than  any 
other  class  of  intellectual  workers.  Carlyle  had  been 
to  the  Boyal  Society,  but  found  the  meetings  he  at- 
tended flat,  stale,  and  unprofitable.  Not  knowing  how 
the  communications  were  related  to  the  general  body 
of  research,  they,  of  course,  lacked  the  sap  which  their 
roots  might  have  supplied  to  them.  He  was  surprised  to 
fmd  me  fairly  well  acquainted  with  '  Wilhelm  Meister's 
Wanderjahre,'  declaring  that,  as  far  as  his  knowledge 
went,  the  persons  were  few  and  far  between  who  showed 
the  least  acquaintance  with  Goethe's  'Three  Keve- 
rences* — reverence  for  what  is  above  us,  reverence  for 
what  is  around  us,  reverence  for  what  is  beneath  us. 
To  this  feature  of  Goethe's  ethics  Carlyle  always  at- 
tached great  importance.  Among  the  spoken  and 
written  words  of  our  age  the  utterances  of  Goethe  were, 
in  his  estimation,  the  highest  and  weightiest.  Of 
Fichte  and  Schiller  he  sometimes  spoke  with  qualified 
admiration — of  Goethe  never.  He  may  have  been 
indebted  to  the  great  German  for  a  portion  of  his 
spiritual  freedom,  and  such  indebtedness  men  do  not 
readily  forget.  Unswerving  in  his  loyalty,  Carlyle, 
towards  the  end  of  his  life,  would  have  ratified  by 
re-subscription  the  ardent  outburst  of  1831.  'And 
knowest  thou  no  prophet,  even  in  the  vesture,  environ- 
ment, and  dialect  of  this  age  ?  None  to  whom  the 
Godlike  has  revealed  itself,  and  by  him  been  again 
prophetically  revealed  ;  in  whose  inspired  melody,  even 
in  these  rag-gathering  and  rag-burning  days,  Man's 
life  a^-ain  begins,  were  it  but  afar  off,  to  be  divine? 

O  O  ' 


356  PERSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  OP 

Knowest  thou  none  such  ?  I  know  him  and  name 
him — Goethe.' '  The  majesty  of  Goethe's  character 
seemed,  in  Carlyle's  estimate  of  him,  to  dissolve  all  his 
eiTors,  both  of  intellect  and  conduct.  The  standards  of 
the  homilettc  market-place  were  scornfully  brushed 
aside ;  drawbacks  and  qualifications  were  blown  away 
like  chaff,  'the  golden  grain'  of  the  mighty  German 
husbandman  being  alone  garnered  and  preserved. 

I  had  various  talks  with  him  about  Goethe's  mis- 
taken appreciation  of  the  '  Farbenlehre '  as  the  greatest 
of  his  works.  To  Carlyle  this  was  a  most  pathetic  fact. 
The  poet  thought  he  had  reached  the  adamant  of 
natural  truth,  and  alas !  he  was  mistaken.  But,  after 
all,  was  he  mistaken  ?  Over  German  artists  the  *  Far- 
benlehre' had  exercised  a  dominant  influence.  Could  it 
be  all  moonshine  ?  Thus  he  mused.  While  holding 
firmly  to  the  verdict  that  with  regard  to  theory 
Goethe  was  hopelessly  wrong,  I  dwelt  with  pleasure  on 
the  wealth  of  facts  which  his  skill  and  industry  had 
accumulated.  This  to  a  certain  extent  gratified  Car- 
lyle, but  he  sighed  for  the  supplement  necessary  to  the 
scientific  completeness  of  his  hero.  He  was  intimately 
acquainted  with  every  nook  and  corner  of  Goethe's 
work — sometimes  more  intimately  than  the  poet's  own 
countrymen.  I  once  had  occasion  to  quote  the  poem 
'  Mason  Lodge,'  translated  and  published  in  4  Past  and 
Present.'8  The  article  in  which  it  was  quoted  was 

1  Sartor  Resartus,  Library  Edition,  p.  244. 

*  Book  III.  chap.  xv.  A  very  noble  song,  and  a  great  favourite 
of  Carlyle's.  With  it  he  wound  up  his  Rectorial  address  at  Edin- 
burgh. The  reciting  of  two  of  its  verses,  under  peculiar  circum- 
•lances,  had  an  important  influence  on  my  own  destiny. 


'  Solemn  before  us, 
Veiled,  the  dark  Portal, 
Goal  of  all  mortal: 
Htars  silent  o'er  us, 
Graves  under  us  silent  1 


Here  eyes  do  regard  you, 
In  Eternity's  stillness; 
Here  is  all  fulness, 
Ye  brave,  to  reward  yon. 
Work  and  despair  not.* 


THOMAS  CAELYLE.  357 

afterwards  translated  into  German  ;  the  original  poem, 
therefore,  required  hunting  up.  None  of  my  friends  in 
Berlin  knew  anything  about,  it.  On  learning  this  I 
went  down  to  Chelsea,  where,  in  answer  to  my  inquiry, 
Carlyle  promptly  crossed  his  sitting-room  and  took 
from  a  shelf  the  required  volume. 

Thus,  through  the  years,  I  kept  myself  in  touch  with 
this  teacher  and  in^pirer  of  my  youth.  The  '  Life  of 
Frederick'  drew  heavily  upon  his  health  and  patience. 
His  labours  were  intensified  by  his  conscientiousness. 
He  proved  all  things,  with  the  view  and  aim  of  holding 
fast  that  which  was  historically  good.  Never  to  err 
would  have  been  superhuman ;  but  if  he  erred,  it  was 
not  through  indolence  or  lack  of  care.  The  facts  of 
history  were  as  sacred  in  his  eyes  as  the  '  constants'  of 
gravitation  in  the  eyes  of  Newton  ;  hence  the  severity 
of  his  work.  The  '  Life  of  Frederick,'  moreover,  worried 
him ;  it  was  not  a  labour  into  which  he  could  throw  his 
whole  soul.  He  was  continually  pulled  up  by  sayings 
and  doings  on  the  part  of  his  hero  which  took  all  en- 
thusiasm out  of  him.  *  Frederick  was  the  greatest 
administrator  this  world  has  seen,  but  I  could  never 
really  love  the  man.'  Such  were  his  words.  While 
engaged  on  this  formidable  task,  he  was  invited  to 
stand  for  the  Rectorship  of  Edinburgh  University. 
For  the  moment  he  declined,  promising,  however,  to 
consider  the  proposal  when  his  labours  on  Frederick 
were  ended.  The  time  came,  and  he  accepted  the  in- 
vitation. Disraeli  was  pitted  against  him,  but  he  won 
the  election  by  an  overwhelming  majority.  His  trans- 
port to  Edinburgh  had  then  to  be  considered.  After 
many  talks  with  him  and  his  wife,  the  simplest  and 
safest  solution  of  the  difficulty  seemed  to  be  that  I 
should  take  charge  of  him  myself. 


353  PERSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  OP 

It  was  arranged  that  he  should  go  first  to  Frey- 
Btone,  in  Yorkshire,  and  pay  a  short  visit  to  Lord 
Houghton.  On  the  morning  of  March  29, 1866,  I  drove 
to  Cheyne  Row,  and  found  him  punctually  ready  at 
the  appointed  hour.  Order  was  Carlyle's  first  law,  and 
punctuality  was  one  of  the  chief  factors  of  order.  He 
was  therefore  punctual.  On  a  table  in  a  small  back 
parlour  below-stairs  stood  a  'siphon,'  protected  by 
wickerwork.  Carlyle  was  conservative  in  habit,  and  in 
his  old  age  he  held  on  to  the  brown  brandy  which  was 
in  vogue  in  his  younger  days.  Into  a  tumbler  Mrs. 
Carlyle  poured  a  moderate  quantity  of  this  brandy,  and 
filled  it  up  with  the  foaming  water  from  the  siphon. 
He  drank  it  off,  and  they  kissed  each  other — for  the 
last  time.  At  the  door  she  suddenly  said  to  me,  *  For 
God's  sake  send  me  one  line  by  telegraph  when  all 
is  over.'  This  said,  and  the  promise  given,  we  drove 
away. 

In  due  time  we  reached  Freystone,  where  the 
warmest  of  welcomes  greeted  Carlyle.  A  beautiful 
feature  in  the  record  of  Carlyle's  relations  to  his  friends 
is  the  loving  loyalty  of  Lord  Houghton.  Not  long 
prior  to  his  lamented  death  he  sent  me  an  extract  from 
a  letter  written  by  Carlyle  to  his  wife  on  the  occasion, 
I  believe,  of  his  first  visit  to  Freystone.  It  had  been 
purchased  by  Lord  Houghton  from  some  collector  of 
letters,  into  whose  hands  it  had  fallen.  It  showed  how 
long-standing  Carlyle's  malady  of  sleeplessness  had 
been.  It  spoke  of  the  weary  unrest  of  the  previous 
night — the  ceaseless  tossing  to  and  fro — and  of  the 
comfort  he  experienced  in  thinking  of  her,  as  he 
smoked  his  morning  cigar  in  the  sunshine.  On  the 
first  night  of  his  last  visit  to  Freystone,  the  unrest  waa 
not  only  renewed  but  intensified.  Railways  had  multi- 
plied ;  they  clasped  Freystone  as  in  a  ring,  and  their 


THOMAS  CAELYLE.  359 

whistles  were  energetically  active  all  night.  I  feared 
the  result,  and  my  fears  proved  only  too  well  grounded. 
In  the  morning  I  found  Carlyle  in  his  bedroom,  wild 
with  his  sufferings.  He  had  not  slept  a  wink.  It 
ought  to  be  noted  that  the  day  previous  he  had  dined 
two  or  three  hours  later  than  was  his  wont,  and  had 
engaged  in  a  vigorous  discussion  after  dinner.  Look- 
ing at  me  despairingly,  he  said,  '  I  can  stay  no  longer 
at  Freystone,  another  such  night  would  kill  me.' 
*  You  shall  do  exactly  as  you  please,'  was  my  reply.  '  I 
will  explain  matters  to  Lord  Houghton,  and  he,  I  am 
persuaded,  will  comply  with  all  your  wishes.'  I  spoke 
to  Lord  Houghton,  who,  though  sorely  disappointed, 
agreed  that  it  was  best  to  allow  his  guest  complete 
freedom  of  action.  It  was  accordingly  arranged  that 
we  should  push  on  to  Edinburgh.  Carlyle's  breakfast 
was  prepared.  He  partially  filled  a  bowl  with  strong 
tea,  added  milk,  and  an  egg  beaten  up.  Eendered 
thus  nutritive,  the  tea  eeemed  to  soothe  and  strengthen 
him.  As  he  breakfasted  our  projects  were  discussed. 
Once,  after  a  pause,  he  exclaimed,  '  How  ungrateful  it 
is  on  my  part,  after  so  much  kindness,  to  quit  Frey- 
gtone  in  this  fashion.'  Taking  prompt  advantage  of 
this  moment  of  relenting,  I  said,  *  Do  not  quit  it,  but 
stay.  We  will  take  a  pair  of  horses  and  gallop  over 
the  country  for  five  or  six  hours.  When  you  return 
you  shall  have  a  dinner  like  what  you  are  accus- 
tomed to  at  home,  and  I  will  take  care  that  there 
shall  be  no  discussions  afterwards.'  He  laughed,  which 
was  a  good  sign.  I  stood  to  my  guns,  and  he  at 
length  yielded  Lord  Houghton  joyfully  ratified  the 
programme,  and  two  horses  were  immediately  got 
ready. 

The  animal  bestrode  by  Carlyle  was  a  large  bony 
grey,  with  a  terribly   hard  mouth.     He   seemed  dis- 


360  PERSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  OF 

posed  to  bolt,  and  obviously  required  a  strong  wrist  to 
rein  him  in.  Carlyle  was  no  longer  young :  paralysis 
agitans  had  enfeebled  his  right  hand — for  some  time 
my  anxiety  was  great.  But  after  sundry  imprecations 
and  strenuous  backward  pulls,  the  horse  was  at  length 
clearly  mastered  by  its  rider,  and  we  fleetly  sped 
along.  Through  lanes,  over  fields,  along  high-roads, 
past  turnpike  gates  where  I  paid  the  toll.  This  con- 
tinued for  at  least  five  hours,  at  the  end  of  which  we 
returned,  and  handed  the  bespattered  horses  over  to  the 
groom.  The  roads  and  lanes  had  been  abominable,  mud 
to  the  fetlocks,  not  to  speak  of  the  slimy  fields.  Had 
the  groom's  feelings  been  allowed  open  vent,  we  should 
have  had  imprecations  on  his  part  also.  We  beard 
only  a  surface  murmur,  but  the  storm,  I  doubt  not,  dis- 
charged itself  behind  our  backs  in  the  stable.  Carlyle 
went  to  his  room,  donned  his  slippers  and  his  re-< 
spectable  grey  dressing-gown.  Carrying  with  him 
one  of  the  long  'churchwardens'  which  he  always 
obtained  from  Glasgow,  he  stuffed  it  full  of  tobacco 
Choosing  a  position  on  the  carpet  by  the  hall  fire 
which  enabled  him  to  send  the  products  of  combustion 
up  the  chimney,  to  the  obvious  astonishment  of  the 
passing  servants  he  began  to  smoke.  Having  with  me 
at  the  time  a  flask  of  choice  pale  brandy,  of  this,  mixed 
with  soda-water,  I  gave  him  a  stiff  tumbler.  The  ride 
had  healthily  tired  him,  and  he  looked  the  picture  of 
content.  At  six  o'clock  his  simple  dinner  was  set 
before  him,  and  he  was  warned  against  discussion.  It 
was  the  traditional  warning  of  the  war-horse  to  be 
quiet  when  he  hears  the  bugle  sound.  In  the  evening 
discussion  began  with  one  of  the  guests,  and  I  could 
eee  that  Carlyle  was  ready  to  dash  into  it  as  im- 
petuously as  he  had  done  the  night  before.  I  laid  my 
hand  upon  his  arm  and  said  sternly,  '  We  must  ha\a 


THOMAS  CARLYLE.  36! 

no  more  of  this.'  He  arched  his  brows  good-humouredly, 
burst  into  laughter,  and  ended  the  discussion.  I  ac- 
companied him  to  his  bedroom,  every  chink  and  fissure 
of  which  had  been  closed  to  stop  out  both  light  and 
sound.  *  I  have  no  hope  of  sleep,'  he  said,  *  and  I  will 
come  to  your  room  at  seven  in  the  morning.'  My 
reply  was,  'I  think  you  will  sleep,  and  if  so,  I  will 
come  to  your  room  instead  of  your  coming  to  mine.' 
My  hopes  were  mainly  founded  on  the  vigorous  exercise 
he  had  taken  ;  but  the  next  day  being  Good  Friday,  I 
also  hoped  for  a  mitigation  of  the  whistle  nuisance. 

At  seven  o'clock,  accordingly,  I  stood  at  his  door. 
There  was  no  sound.  Eeturning  at  eight,  I  found  the 
same  dead  silence.  At  nine,  hearing  a  rustle,  I  opened 
his  door  and  found  him  dressing.  The  change  from 
the  previous  morning  was  astonishing.  Never  before 
or  afterwards  did  I  see  Carlyle's  countenance  glow  with 
such  happiness.  It  was  seraphic.  I  have  often  thought 
of  it  since.  How  in  the  case  of  a  man  possessing  a 
range  of  life  wide  enough  to  embrace  the  demoniac  and 
the  godlike,  a  few  hours'  sound  sleep  can  lift  him  from 
the  grovelling  hell  of  the  one  into  the  serene  heaven  of 
the  other  1  This  question  of  sleep  or  sleeplessnese  hides 
many  a  tragedy.  He  looked  at  me  with  boundless 
blessedness  in  his  eyes  and  voice.  '  My  dear  friend,  I 
am  a  totally  new  man ;  I  have  slept  nine  hours  with- 
out once  awaking.'  That  night's  rest  proved  the  pre- 
lude and  guarantee  of  his  subsequent  triumph  at  Edin- 
burgh. 

We  had  been  joined  at  Freystone  by  Huxley,1  and 
in  due  time  started,  all  three  together,  for  the  beautiful 

1  And  by  the  aole  and  lamented  Mr.  Maclennan.     Dr.  Hirst  also 
paid  a  brief  visit  to  Freystone,  and  was  afterwards  one  of  Carlyle'i 
•  hearers  in  Edinburgh. 


362  PERSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  OP 

metropolis  of  the  North.  There  Carlyle  was  lodged  in 
the  house  of  his  gentle  and  devoted  friend,  Erskine  of 
Linlathen.  He  was  placed  as  far  from  the  noises  of 
the  street,  in  other  words  as  near  the  roof,  as  possible. 
I  saw  him  occasionally  in  his  skyey  dormitory,  where, 
though  his  sleep  did  not  reach  the  perfection  once 
attained  at  Frey stone,  it  was  never  wholly  bad.  There 
was  considerable  excitement  in  Edinburgh  at  the  time 
— copious  talking  and  hospitable  feasting.  The  evening 
before  the  eventful  day  I  dined  at  Kinellan  with  my 
well-beloved  friends,  Sir  James  and  Lady  Coxe,  whose 
permanent  guest  I  was  at  the  time.  Sir  David  and 
Lady  Brewster  were  there,  and  Russell  of  the  Scots- 
man. The  good  Sir  David  looked  forward  with  fear 
and  trembling  to  what  he  was  persuaded  must  prove  a 
fiasco.  '  Why,'  he  said  to  me,  '  Carlyle  has  not  written 
a  word  of  his  Address  ;  and  no  Rector  of  this  University 
ever  appeared  before  his  audience  without  this  needful 
preparation.'  In  regard  to  the  writing  I  did  not  share 
Sir  David's  fear,  being  well  aware  of  Carlyle's  marvellous 
powers  of  utterance  when  he  had  fair  play.  There, 
however,  was  the  rub.  Would  he  have  fair  play? 
Would  he  come  to  his  task  fresh  and  strong,  or  with 
the  pliancy  of  his  brain  destroyed  by  sleeplessness? 
This  surely  is  the  tragic  side  of  insomnia,  and  of  the 
dyspepsia  which  frequently  generates  it.  'It  takes 
all  heart  out  of  me,  so  that  I  cannot  speak  to  my  people 
as  I  ought.'  Such  were  the  words  of  a  worthy  Welsh 
clergyman  whom  I  met  in  1854  among  his  native  hills, 
and  whose  unrest  at  night  was  similar  to  that  of 
Carlyle.  Time  would  soon  deliver  its  verdict. 

The  eventful  day  came,  and  we  assembled  in  the  ante- 
room of  the  hall  in  which  the  address  was  to  be  delivered 
— Carlyle  in  his  rector's  robe,  Huxley,  Ramsay,  Erskirie, 
and  myself  in  more  sober  gowns.  We  were  all  four  to- 


THOMAS  CARLYLE.  363 

he  doctored.  The  great  man  of  the  occasion  had 
declined  the  honour,  pleading  humorously  that  in 
heaven  there  might  be  some  confusion  between  him  and 
his  brother  John,  if  they  both  bore  the  title  of  doctor. 
I  went  up  to  Carlyle,  and  earnestly  scanning  his  face, 
asked:  'How  do  you  feel?'  He  returned  my  gaze, 
curved  his  lip,  shook  his  head,  and  answered  not  a  word. 
'  Now, '  I  said,  *  you  have  to  practise  what  you  have 
been  preaching  all  your  life,  and  prove  yourself  a  hero.' 
He  again  shook  his  head,  but  said  nothing.  A  proces- 
sion was  formed,  and  we  moved,  amid  the  plaudits  of 
the  students,  towards  the  platform.  Carlyle  took  his 
place  in  the  rector's  chair,  and  the  ceremony  of  con- 
ferring degrees  began.  Looking  at  the  sea  of  faces 
below  me — young,  eager,  expectant,  waiting  to  be 
lifted  up  by  the  words  of  the  prophet  they  had  chosen 
— I  forgot  all  about  the  degrees.  Suddenly  I  found  an 
elbow  among  my  ribs — *  Tyndall,  they  are  calling  for 
you.'  I  promptly  stood  at  *  'tention '  and  underwent 
the  process  of  baptism.  The  degrees  conferred,  a  fine 
tall  young  fellow  rose  and  proclaimed  with  ringing 
voice  from  the  platform  the  honour  that  had  been  con- 
fered  on  'the  foremost  of  living  Scotchmen.'  The 
cheers  were  loud  and  long. 

Carlyle  stood  up,  threw  off  his  robe,  like  an  ancient 
David  declining  the  unproved  armour  of  Saul,  and  in 
his  carefully-brushed  brown  morning-coat  came  forward 
to  the  table.  With  nervous  fingers  he  grasped  the 
leaf,  and  stooping  over  it  looked  earnestly  down  upon 
the  audience.  '  They  tell  me,'  he  said,  '  that  I  ought 
to  have  written  this  address,  and  out  of  deference  to 
the  counsel  I  tried  to  do  so,  once,  twice,  thrice.  But 
what  I  wrote  was  only  fit  for  the  fire,  and  to  the  fire  it 
was  compendiously  committed.  You  must  therefore 
listen  to  and  accept  what  I  say  to  you  as  coming  straight 

24 


3f>4  PERSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  OF 

from  the  heart.'  He  began,  and  the  world  already 
knows  what  he  said.  I  attended  more  to  the  aspect  ot 
the  audience  than  to  the  speech  of  the  orator,  which 
contained  nothing  new  to  me.  I  could,  however,  mark 
its  influence  on  the  palpitating  crowd  below.  They 
were  stirred  as  if  by  subterranean  fire.  For  an  hour 
and  a  half  he  held  them  spellbound,  and  when  he  ended 
the  emotion  previously  pent  up  burst  forth  in  a  roar  of 
acclamation.  With  a  joyful  heart  and  clear  conscience 
I  could  redeem  my  promise  to  Mrs.  Carlyle.  From  the 
nearest  telegraph-office  I  sent  her  a  despatch  of  three 
words:  'A  perfect  triumph,'  and  returned  towards  the 
hall.  Noticing  a  commotion  in  the  street,  I  came  up 
with  the  crowd.  It  was  no  street  brawl ;  it  was  not  the 
settlement  of  a  quarrel,  but  a  consensus  of  acclamation, 
cheers  and  *  bravos,'  and  a  general  shying  of  caps  into 
the  air !  Looking  ahead  I  saw  two  venerable  old  men 
walking  slowly  arm-in-arm  in  advance  of  the  crowd. 
They  were  Carlyle  and  Erskine.  The  rector's  audience 
had  turned  out  to  do  honour  to  their  hero.  Nothing  in 
the  whole  ceremony  affected  Carlyle  so  deeply  as  this 
display  of  fervour  in  the  open  air. 

All  this  was  communicated  by  letter  to  Mrs.  Carlyle; 
and  as  I  shared  the  general  warmth  of  the  time,  it 
is  to  be  assumed  that  my  letters  were  of  the  proper 
temperature.  She,  at  all  events,  wrote  warmly  enough 
about  me  afterwards.  Wound  up,  as  she  had  been,  to 
ouch  an  intense  pitch  of  anxiety,  the  thin-spun  life  was 
almost l  slit '  by  the  telegram.  Her  joy  was  hysterical. 
But  after  a  little  time,  aided  by  the  loving  cure  of 
friends,  she  shook  away  all  that  was  abnormal  in  her 
happiness.  She  dined  that  evening  with  John  Forster. 
Dickens  and  Wilkie  Collins  were  of  the  party.  She 
entered  the  drawing-room  exultant,  waving  the  telegram 
in  the  air.  Warm  felicitations  were  not  wanting,  and 


THOMAS  CARLYI<E.  365 

probably  on  that  occasion  her  cup  of  bliss  was  fuller 
than  it  had  been  for  years  before. 

Carlyle's  great  task  having  ended  thus  happily,  he 
ioined  in  festivities,  public  and  private.  Meat  and  wine 
I  have  forgotten,  but  I  have  not  forgotten  the  jocund 
after-dinner  songs.  They  were  sung  by  their  composers. 
Dry  science  became  plastic  in  the  hands  of  these  artists, 
and  the  forms  it  assumed  must  have  astonished  Carlyle. 
He  joined  heartily  in  the  fun.  Two  banquets  dwell 
specially  in  my  memory — a  Symposium  Academicum, 
got  up  in  Carlyle's  honour,  and  a  dinner  at  the  house  01 
his  steadfast  friend,  Professor  Masson.  At  both  hilarity 
ran  high.  The  figure  of  Dr.  Maclagan,  with  eyes 
directed  piteously  upwards,  with  body  bent,  and  hands 
clasped  in  agony  over  some  .excruciating  medical 
absurdity,  has  left  an  unfading  photograph  upon  my 
brain.  Till  then  I  had  thought  the  dinners  of  our 
Koyal  Society  Club  in  London  the  most  genial  in  the 
world  ;  but  they  could  not  hold  a  candle  to  this  Edin- 
burgh Symposium.  The  dinner  at  Masson's  was  equally 
jovial.  Lord  Neaves  was  there — one  of  the  most  pleasant 
personages  I  had  ever  met.  He  was  charged  with  his 
own  bright  ditties,  which  he  sang  with  infective  anima- 
tion. Some  time  previously  John  Stuart  Mill  had 
written  his  *  Examination  of  the  Philosophy  of  Sir 
William  Hamilton,'  wherein  he  had  reduced  the  ex- 
ternal world  to  'a  series  of  possibilities  of  sensation.' 
Lord  Neaves  had  thrown  this  theory  into  lyric  rhyme. 
The  refrain  of  his  song  was  '  Stuart  Mill  on  Mind  and 
Mntter.'  The  whole  table  joined  in  the  refrain,  Carlyle, 
with  voice-accompaniment,  swaying  his  knifo  to  and 
fro,  like  the  baton  of  a  '  conductor.'  If,  afterwards,  in 
a  fit  of  depression,  he  described  the  time  he  spent  in 
Edinburgh  as  '  a  miserable  time,'  he  must  have  been 
the  victim  of  self-delusion.  It  was  a  time  of  joy  and 


3G6  PERSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  OP 

gladness,  which  he  amply  shared  ;  but  he  seemed  unable, 
subsequently,  to  shoot  the  rays  of  memory  through  the 
heavy  atmosphere  which  immediately  surrounded  him. 
Like  light-rays  in  a  fog,  they  were  quenched  by  re-per- 
cussion from  his  own  melancholy  broodings.  In  Edin- 
burgh all  the  necessary  elements  combined  to  render 
him  happy.  In  the  background  slumbered  the  con- 
sciousness of  success.  In  the  same  region  lay  thoughts 
of  his  wife,  whose  pride  in  his  triumph  would  rever- 
berate its  glow  upon  him.  Clinging  to  her  image  were 
memories  of  a  time  when  her  union  witli  him  was 
deemed  a  mesalliance.  Who  could  think  so  now  ?  He 
stood  consciously  there  as  a  victor  over  difficulties  which 
would  have  broken  to  pieces  not  the  feeble  only,  but 
the  strong — a  victor  in  the  chief  city  of  his  country, 
which  he  had  entered  fifty-seven  years  previously  as  a 
wayworn  peasant-boy.  Such,  during  his  actual  stay  in 
Edinburgh,  were  Carlyle's  pleasant  musings — swept, 
alas!  into  practical  oblivion  by  calamity  soon  afterwards. 
Huxley  and  I  had  proposed  to  ourselves  an  excursion 
in  the  Highlands ;  but  snow  had  fallen,  covering  the  hills 
and  rendering  them  unfit  for  exercise.  Our  thoughts 
turned  homewards,  and  our  bodies  soon  followed  our 
thoughts.  Before  coming  away  I  visited  Carlyle  in  his 
bedroom.  He  was  correcting  the  proofs  of  his  Addre.-s. 
'  Now,'  he  said,  '  the  tollgates  at  Freystone  are  to  be 
settled  for.'  I  made  light  of  them,  and  urged  him  to 
say  '  Good-bye.'  But  he  would  not.  *  The  thought 
of  them  clings  to  me  like  unwashed  hands.'  He  re- 
cognised as  mean  the  cause  of  the  discomfort,  and  used 
a  congruous  metaphor  to  express  it.  I  still  refused  to 
make  out  a  bill,  so  he  put  down  all  the  items  he  re- 
membered, added  them  together,  and  said,  '  I  owe  you 
so  much.'  Looking  over  the  account  I  retorted,  with 
mock  sternness,  '  I  bog  your  pardon,  you  owe  me 


THOMAS  CAKLYLE.  3C7 

fourpence-halfpenny  more.'     He  laughed  heartily,  pro- 
duced the  fourpence-halfpenny,  which,  with  an  air  of. 
business-like  gravity,  I  pocketed,  and  bade  him  *  Good- 
bye.' 

Immediately  after  my  arrival  in  London  I  called 
upou  Mis.  Carlyle.  It  was  a  bright  welcome  that  she 
gave  tne.  A  deep  and  settled  happiness  had  taken 
possession  of  her  mind  ;  though  she  still  could  afford  a 
flash  of  sarcasm  for  one  of  the  Edinburgh  audience  who 
had  visited  her  the  day  before.  The  glow  of  pride  in 
her  husband  was  obvious  enough.  Not  before  a  select 
few,  but  before  the  world  at  large,  he  had  won  for  him- 
self renown,  and  for  her  choice  of  him,  justification. 
She  wrote  to  him,  'I  have  not  been  so  fond  of  everybody 
since  I  was  a  girl.'  We  chatted  long  over  the  occur- 
rences in  the  North,  which  I  thought  would  give  her 
a  new  lease  of  happy  life.  Referring  to  her  anxiety 
about  the  Address,  she  said  she  had  never  entertained 
the  thought  of  his  breaking  down.  As  long  as  he  had 
life  there  was  no  fear  of  that.  But  she  thought  it  quite 
possible  that  life  itself  might  snap,  and  that  he  might 
fall  down  dead  before  the  people.  It  must  have  been 
her  lithe  fingers,  and  her  high-strung  nerves,  that  gave 
to  the  pressure  of  her  hand  an  elastic  intensity  which  I 
have  not  noticed  elsewhere.  Such  warmth  of  pressure 
had  been  always  mine.  As  might  be  surmised,  it  was 
not  relaxed  on  this  occasion,  when,  all  unconscious  of 
impending  disaster,  I  stood  up  and  bade  her  *  Good-bye.' 

I  went  to  the  Isle  of  Wight,  which  was  my  usual 
refuge  when  tired,  made  Freshwater  Gate  my  head- 
quarters, and  was  refreshed  as  I  had  often  been  before 
by  the  broad-blown,  brotherly  voice  of  Tennyson.  Two 
walks  in  the  island  have  always  had  a  special  charm 
for  me  ;  one  along  '  the  ridge  of  a  noble  down  '  which 


3G8  PERSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  OP 

stretches  from  Freshwater  Gate  to  the  Needles;  the 
other  along  the  spine  of  the  island  from  Freshwater 
Gate  to  Carisbrook,  past  ancient  Barrows,  with  the 
Solent  on  the  one  side  and  the  ocean  on  the  other. 
From  Carisbrook  it  was  an  easy  walk  to  Cowes,  whence 
steamers  plied  to  Southampton.  Keturning  from  the 
inland  on  the  occasion  now  referred  to,  I  chose  this 
latter  route,  and  on  reaching  the  railway-station  at 
Southampton,  went  straight  to  the  bookstall  to  pick  up 
a  copy  of  the  Times.  On  opening  the  paper  I  was 
stunned.  Before  me  stood  in  prominent  letters,  *  Sudden 
death  of  Mrs.  Carlyle.'  I  sped  to  London,  and  on  my 
writing-table  found  a  note  from  Miss  Jewsbury.  Carlyle 
had  arrived  in  Chelsea.  *  For  Heaven's  sake,'  said  my 
correspondent,  'come  and  see  the  old  man!  he  is  utterly 
heart-broken.'  In  a  few  pathetic  words  Leslie  Stephen 
has  told  the  story  of  her  death :  * Mrs.  Carlyle  had  asked 
some  friends  to  tea  on  Saturday,  April  21.  She  had 
gone  out  for  a  drive  with  a  little  dog ;  she  let  it  out 
for  a  run,  when  a  carriage  knocked  it  down.  She  sprang 
out  and  lifted  it  into  the  carriage.  The  carriage  went 
on,  and  presently  she  was  found  sitting  with  folded 
arms  in  the  carriage,  dead.' 

I  drove  forthwith  to  Chelsea.  The  door  was  opened 
by  Carlyle's  old  servant,  Mrs.  Warren,  who  informed  me 
that  her  master  was  in  the  garden.  I  joined  him  there, 
and  we  immediately  went  upstairs  together.  It  would 
be  idle,  perhaps  sacrilegious  on  my  part,  to  attempt 
any  repetition  of  his  language.  In  words,  the  flow  of 
which  might  be  compared  to  a  molten  torrent,  he  re- 
ferred to  the  early  days  of  his  wife  and  himself — to 
their  struggles  against  poverty  and  obstruction  ;  to  her 
valiant  encouragement  in  hours  of  depression  ;  to  their 
life  on  the  moors,  in  Edinburgh,  and  in  London — how 
lovingly  and  loyally  she  had  made  of  herself  a  soft 


THOMAS  CAKLYLE.  369 

cushion  to  protect  him  from  the  rude  collisions  of  the 
world.  The  late  Mr.  Venables,  whose  judgment  on 
such  a .  point  may  be  trusted,  often  spoke  to  me  of 
Carlyle's  extraordinary  power  of  conversation.  In  bis 
noon  of  life  it  was  without  a  parallel.  And  now,  with 
the  floodgates  of  grief  fully  opened,  that  power  rose  to 
a  height  which  it  had  probably  never  attained  before. 
Three  or  four  times  during  the  narrative  he  utterly 
broke  down.  I  could  see  the  approach  of  the  crisis, 
and  prepare  for  it.  After  thus  giving  way,  a  few 
sympathetic  words  would  cause  him  to  rapidly  pull 
himself  together,  and  resume  the  flow  of  his  discourse. 
I  subsequently  tried  to  write  down  what  he  said,  but  I 
will  not  try  to  reproduce  it  here.  While  he  thus  spoke 
to  me,  all  that  remained  of  his  wife  lay  silent  in  an 
adjoining  room. 

His  house  was  left  unto  him  desolate.  Sympathy 
from  all  quarters  flowed  towards  him,  but  it  seemed 
to  do  him  little  good.  His  whole  life  was  wrapped  in 
mourning.  I  think  it  probable  that  in  the  lamenta- 
tions which  have  reached  the  public  through  the 
*  Eeminiscences,'  he  did  himself  wrong.  His  was  a 
temper  very  likely  to  exaggerate  his  shortcomings; 
very  likely  to  blame  himself  to  excess  for  his  over- 
absorption  in  his  work,  and  his  too  great  forgetfulness 
of  his  wife.  The  figure  of  Johnson  standing  bareheaded 
in  the  market-place  of  Lichfield,  to  atone  for  some 
failure  of  duty  to  his  father,  fascinated  Carlyle ;  and 
now  in  his  hour  of  woe  he  imitated  Johnson,  not  by 
baring  his  head,  but  by  lacerating  his  heart.  They 
had  had  their  differences -due  probably  more  to  her 
vivid  and  fanciful  imaginings  than  to  anything  else. 
He,  however,  took  the  whole  blame  upon  himself.  It 
was  loving  and  chivalrous,  but  I  doubt  whether  it  was 
entirely  just.  I  think  it  likely  that  in  her  later 


370  PERSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  OF 

years  she  would  have  condemned  some  of  the  utter- 
ances of  her  earlier  ones.  As  time  passed  she  grew 
more  and  more  mellow  and  tender — more  and  more 
into  the  form  and  texture  of  the  wife  needed  by  Car- 
lyle.  Had  she  lived  a  little  longer  his  self-reproaches 
would  never  have  been  heard.1  Let  me,  however,  for- 
sake surmises  and  return  to  facts.  He  had  laid  his 
wife  in  Haddingron  Churchyard.  The  summer  had 
passed,  and  harsh,  dark  winter  was  approaching.  To 
spend  the  winter  in  Cheyne  Row  with  all  its  associations 
was  more  than  he  could  be  expected  to  bear.  But  what 
was  to  be  done  ?  A  loving  answer  to  this  question 

1  There  was  a  fund  of  tenderness  and  liberality  in  Mrs.  Carlyle ; 
but  her  sarcasm  could,  on  occasion,  bite  like  nitric  acid.  Like  her 
husband,  she  could  hit  off  a  character  or  peculiarity  with  a  simple 
stroke  of  the  tongue.  Her  stories  sparkled  with  wit  and  humour. 
It  may  be  an  old  yarn,  but  she  caused  me  to  shake  with  laughter 
by  her  inimitable  way  of  telling  the  story  of  an  old  French  priest, 
who  discoursed  to  his  peasant  congregation  on  Samson's  feat  of 
tying  the  foxes'  tails  together,  and  sending  them  with  burning 
brands  through  the  standing  corn.  The  ruin  to  agricultural  produce 
was  described  so  vividly,  and  with  such  local  and  domestic  applica- 
tions, that  the  people  burst  into  weeping.  Their  sobs  and  tears 
reacted  on  the  old  priest  himself.  He  also  fell  to  weeping,  but 
tried  to  assuage  the  general  grief  by  calling  out, '  Ne  pleurez  pas, 
mes  enfants.  Ne  pleurez  pas  ;  ce  n'est  pas  vrai  1 '  Her  voice  was 
exquisitely  comic  as  she  told  this  story.  The  only  intimation  that  I 
ever  had  of  past  unhappiness  on  her  part  was  given  during  an  even- 
ing visit  when  I  found  her  alone.  She  then  told  me  that  some  years 
previously  she  had  kept  a  journal,  in  which,  to  relieve  her  mind,  she 
wrote  down  her  most  secret  thoughts  and  feelings.  She  condemned, 
as  she  spoke  to  me,  this  habit  of  introspection.  One  day  she  had 
left  the  book  upon  her  de?k,  and  on  returning  to  her  room,  found 
there  a  visitor  actually  looking  into  the  journal.  He  probably  re- 
garded it  as  a  mere  library  book ;  but  her  wrath  and  rage,  on  finding 
savings  and  sentiments  intended  for  her  eye  alone,  and  kept  secret 
even  from  Carlyle,  thus  pried  into,  were  uncontrollable.  As  she 
tspoke  to  me  her  anger,  seemed  to  revive,  and  its  potency  could  cot, 
be  doubted.  When  I  quitted  her,  I  carried  away  the  impression 
that  her  maturer  judgment  liad  caused  her  to  regard  these  journal 
•ntrios  as  the  foolish  utterances  of  a  too  sen  itive  past. 


THOMAS  CARLYLE.  871 

came  to  him  in  his  hour  of  need.  The  first  Lady 
Ashburton  had  been  Carlyle's  friend,  and  the  second, 
with  a  more  fervent  nature,  was  no  less  so.  She  had 
taken  at  Mentone  a  beautiful  villa,  the  Villa  Madonna, 
and  thither  she  pressed  Carlyle  to  come.  I  saw  him 
frequently  at  this  mournful  time,  and  talked  much 
with  him  about  his  plans.  The  Mentone  scheme  he 
deemed  at  first  clearly  impracticable ;  but  the  more  it 
was  thought  over,  the  more  evident  it  became  that  it 
was  the  only  really  practicable  course  open  to  him. 
As  the  gloom  of  December  set  in,  the  necessity  of  get- 
ting him  away  from  London  became  more  and  more 
apparent.  Counting  the  days  at  my  disposal,  I  found 
that  it  was  within  my  power  to  convey  him  to  Mentone, 
deposit  him  there,  and  return  in  time  for  my  personal 
duties  in  the  Royal  Institution.  Lectures  would  b°gin, 
but  men  were  there  whose  friendship  had  never  failed 
me,  and  on  whom  I  could  rely  that  all  things  would  be 
well  conducted  during  my  absence.  Seeing  the  pos- 
sibility, my  action  was  prompt.  I  offered  to  take 
charge  of  him,  cutting  short  hesitation  and  discussion 
by  pointing  to  the  inexorable  march  of  time.  Over  the 
packing  of  his  pipes  we  had  a  wrangle.  It  was  clearly 
evident  that  his  mode  of  packing  would  bring  the 
'churchwardens'  to  grief,  and  I  emphatically  told  him 
so.  But  he  would  have  his  way.  He  knew  how  to 
pack  pipes,  and  would  be  answerable  for  their  safety. 
Out  of  fifty  thus  packed  at  Cheyne  Row,  three  only 
reached  Mentone  unbroken.  I  afterwards  enjoyed  the 
triumph  of  sending  him  fifty  without  a  single  fracture. 
But  I  anticipate.  Rime  was  in  the  air,  sucking  the 
vital  warmth  out  of  every  living  thing  when  we  started 
on  the  morning  of  December  22.  A  raw  breeze  blew  in 
our  faces  as  we  crossed  the  Channel,  or  rather  a  breeze 
created  by  the  vessel's  motion,  for  the  air  was  still.  1 


372  PERSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  OF 

tried  to  muffle  him  up  ;  but  immediately  resigned  my 
attempted  task  to  a  young  lady,  who  wound  and  pinned 
his  comforter  in  a  manner  unattainable  by  me.  Carlyle 
was  interested  to  learn  that  his  kind  protectress  was  the 
daughter  of  Sir  John  Herschel.  She  was  then  Miss 
Amelia  Herschel,  she  is  now  Lady  Wade.  In  Paris  we 
spent  the  night  at  the  Grand  Hotel  de  St.  James, 
Rue  St.  Honore.  A  bad  sleeper  myself,  I  had  long 
before  chosen  this  hotel,  because  its  bedrooms  opened 
into  a  garden.  \Ve  were  well  lodged ;  but  some  slight 
creak  or  clatter  of  a  loose  window  roused  Carlyle,  who 
became  vocal.  Noise  at  night  was  a  terror  and  a 
torture  to  him.  I  rose,  reproved  and  corrected  the 
peccant  window,  the  night  afterwards  passing  quietly. 
Next  morning  we  started.  At  the  Gare  de  Lyon  we 
were  met  by  my  lamented  friend  Jamin,  a  Member  of 
the  Institute,  who  helped  us  with  the  railway  officials, 
and  sent  us  on  our  journey  with  a  hearty  God-speed. 

In  England,  as  stated,  the  weather  was  harsh ;  it 
continued  so  in  France.  "We  had  the  good  luck  to 
secure  a  coup6  in  the  Marseilles  train.  Throughout 
the  day  the  landscape  was  cut  off  by  freezing  mist,  and 
at  the  Lyons  station  the  outlook  was  specially  dismal; 
due  precautions  however  had  been  taken  against  cold. 
In  view  of  my  winter  expedition  to  the  Mer  de  Glace 
in  1859  I  had  purchased  a  sheepskin  bag,  lined  with 
its  own  wool,  and  provided  with  straps  to  attach  it 
comfortably  to  the  waist.  Swathed  with  this  to  the 
hips,  such  heat  as  he  could  generate  was  preserved  for 
his  feet  and  limbs.  At  Lyons  food,  wine,  and  a  bottle 
of  water  for  the  night  were  secured.  The  water-bottle 
stood  on  a  shelf  in  front  of  us.  '  Observe  it,'  I  said  to 
my  companion.  He  did  so  with  attention.  At  times 
the  water  would  appear  quite  tranquil ;  then  it  would 
begin  to  oscillate,  the  motion  augmenting  till  the  liquid 


THOMAS  CAELYLB.  279 

splashed  violently  to  and  fro  up  the  sides  of  the  bottle  ; 
then  the  motion  would  subside,  almost  perfect  stillness 
setting  in.  In  due  time  this  would  be  again  disturbed, 
the  oscillations  setting  in  as  before.  Carlyle  was  well 
acquainted  with  the  effects  of  synchronism  in  periodic 
motion,  but  he  was  charmed  to  recognise  in  the  water- 
bottle  an  analyst  of  the  vibrations  of  the  train.  It 
told  us  when  vibrations  of  its  own  special  period  were 
present  in,  and  when  they  were  absent  from,  the  con- 
fused and  multitudinous  rumble  which  appealed  to  our 
ears.  This  was  monotonous  and  permitted  us  to  have 
some  sleep.  On  opening  our  eyes  in  the  morning  we 
found  a  deep-blue  sky  above  us,  and  a  genial  sun  shin- 
ing on  the  world.  The  change  was  surprising  ;  we  had 
obviously  reached  '  the  Sunny  South.' 

We  rested  at  Marseilles,  and  walked  through  the 
sunlit  city.  Carlyle  seated  himself  on  a  bench  in  the 
shade  of  trees,  while  I  went  back  to  our  hotel.  On 
returning  I  found  him  in  conversation  with  a  paralysed 
beggar  boy,  from  whom  he  had  extracted  the  sad  story 
of  his  life.  *  The  poor  we  have  always  with  us,'  may  be 
truly  said  of  all  kindreds  and  tongues.  In  Marseilles 
we  had  them  singing  in  the  streets  for  eleemosynary 
sous.  Carlyle  contributed  liberally.  At  the  proper 
time  we  took  our  tickets  for  Nice.  In  his  later  years 
the  factory  smoke  which  pollutes  our  air,  the  dyer's 
chemistry  which  pollutes  our  rivers,  the  defacement  oi 
natural  beauty  which  many  of  our  industries  have 
brought  in  their  train,  were  hateful  to  him.  The  rail- 
way whistle,  rather  than  the  grand  roar  of  the  rushing 
locomotive,  was  his  abomination.  Tumult  and  confu- 
sion, especially  when  mixed  with  the  stupidity  of  men 
and  women,  he  detested.  Such  confusion  we  found  at 
the  Marseilles  railway-station,  and  his  disgust  thereat 
was  registered  in  his  voice  and  written  on  his  couuie- 


374  PERSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  07 

nance.  At  Nice  the  railway  came  to  an  end,  and  a 
carriage  was  needed  to  take  us  over  the  hills  to  Men- 
tone.  We  had  a  vigorous  altercation  at  a  cab-stand, 
where  gross  extortion  was  attempted.  We  retired  to  a 
respectable  hotel,  the  courteous  proprietor  of  which, 
after  some  waiting,  provided  us  with  the  required 
vehicle.  The  lights  of  Monaco  shone  below  us  as  we 
slowly  crept  over  the  hills.  From  the  summit  we 
trotted  down  to  Mentone,  reaching  it  at  two  o'clock  in 
the  morning.  He  was  expected,  and  a  loving  friend 
was  on  the  alert  to  welcome  him.  The  reception  was 
such  as  a  younger  man  might  envy.  It  was  indeed 
plain  to  me  that  the  storm-tossed  barque  had  reached 
a  haven  in  which  it  could  safely  rest. 

I  allowed  myself  a  few  pleasant  excursions  in  the 
neighbourhood.  We  all  ascended  to  the  high-perched 
village  of  Sant'  Agnese,  whence,  though  strenuously 
opposed  by  Carlyle,  I  continued  the  ascent  to  the  sum- 
mit of  the  '  Aiguille.'  This  is  the  highest  peak  of  the 
region,  The  sun  was  setting  as  I  reached  the  top, 
flooding  the  Maritime  Alps  and  the  bays  and  promon- 
tories of  the  Mediterranean  with  blood-red  light.  It 
was  a  grand  scene.  We  dined  with  the  accomplished 
Lady  Marian  Alford.  The  present  Lord  Brownlow,  as 
Mr.  Gust,  was  there  at  the  time,  and  a  finer  speci- 
men of  physical  manhood  I  thought  I  had  never 
before  seen.  After  dinner  a  discussion  arose  about  the 
sun  as  the  physical  basis  of  life.  Carlyle's  usual  dislike 
to  anything  savouring  of  materialism  showed  itself, 
while  I,  with  my  usual  freedom,  told  him  that  he  was 
sure  to  come  to  grief  if  he  questioned  the  sun's  capacity 
as  regards  either  light  or  life.  In  the  morning,  at  an 
early  hour,  I  found  him  vigorously  marching  along  the 
fringe  of  the  Mediterranean.  In  the  afternoon  we  had 
a  long  drive  on  the  Corniche  Eoad.  The  zenilhal 


THOMAS  CARLYLE.  3/5 

firmament,  as  we  returned,  was  a  deep  blue,  the  western 
sky  a  fiery  crimson.  Newton's  suggestion — it  could 
hardly  be  called  a  theory — as  to  the  cause  of  the 
heavenly  azure  was  mentioned.  Carlyle  had  learned  a 
good  deal  of  natural  philosophy  from  Leslie,  of  whom 
he  preserved  a  grateful  remembrance.  From  Leslie  he 
had  learnt  Newton's  view  of  the  colour  of  the  sky,  and 
he  now  stood  up  for  it.  Leslie,  he  contended,  was  a 
high  and  trustworthy  authority.  'An  excellent  man,' 
I  admitted,  '  in  his  own  line,  but  not  an  authority  on 
the  point  now  under  discussion.'  Carlyle  continued  to 
press  his  point,  while  I  continued  to  resist.  He  became 
silent,  and  remained  so  for  some  time.  A  'dependance* 
of  the  Villa  Madonna  had  been  placed  at  his  sole  dis- 
posal, and  in  it  his  fire  was  blazing  pleasantly  when  we 
returned  from  our  drive.  I  helped  him  to  put  on  his 
dressing-gown.  Throwing  himself  into  a  chair,  and 
pointing  to  another  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  fire,  he 
said :  4 1  didn't  mean  to  contradict  you.  Sit  down 
there  and  tell  me  all  about  it.'  I  sat  down,  and  he 
listened  with  perfect  patience  to  a  lengthy  dissertation 
on  the  uudulatory  theory,  the  laws  of  interference,  and 
the  colours  of  thin  plates.  As  in  all  similar  cases,  his 
questions  showed  wonderful  penetration.  The  power 
which  made  his  pictures  so  vivid  and  so  true  enabled 
him  to  seize  ph)sical  imagery  with  ease  and  accuracy. 
Discussions  ending  in  this  way  were  not  unfrequent 
between  us,  and,  in  matters  of  science,  I  was  always 
able,  in  the  long  run,  to  make  prejudice  yield  to  reason. 
On  the  day  of  my  departure  we  all  drove  to  Monaco— 
our  warm-hearted  hostess,  Carlyle,  and  a  young  lady 
who  was  then  a  lovely  child,  and  who  is  now  a  charm- 
ing mother.  On  the  little  pier  I  bade  them  good-bye 
and  went  on  board  the  steamer  for  Nice.  Almost  at 
the  point  where  we  had  quitted  the  rime  the  train 


376  PERSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  OF 

plunged  into  it  again.     It  had  clung  to  its  clirne  per« 
sistently,  while  sunshine  covered  the  Mentone  hills. 

After  Carlyle's  return  from  Mentone  in  the  spring 
we  had  various  excursions  together.  I  accompanied 
him  to  Melchet,  the  beautiful  seat  of  Lady  Ashburton, 
and  rode  with  him  through  the  adjacent  New  Forest. 
We  drove  to  Lyndhurst  to  see  Leighton's  frescoes.  We 
frequently  walked  together.  One  day,  the  storm  being 
wild  and  rude,  a  refuge  from  its  buffets  was  thought 
desirable.  He  said  he  knew  of  one.  I  accordingly 
followed  his  lead  to  a  wood  at  some  distance.  We 
skirted  it  for  a  time,  and  finally  struck  into  it.  In  the 
heart  of  the  wood  we  found  a  clearing.  The  trees  had 
been  cut  down  and  removed,  their  low  stumps,  with 
smooth  transverse  sections,  remaining  behind.  It  was 
a  solemn  spot,  perfectly  calm,  while  round  the  wood 
sounded  the  storm.  Dry  dead  fern  abounded.  Of  this 
I  formed  a  cushion,  and  placing  it  on  one  of  the  tree- 
stumps,  set  him  down  upon  it.  I  filled  his  pipe  and 
lighted  it,  and  while  he  puffed,  conversation  went  on. 
Early  in  the  day,  as  we  roamed  over  the  pastures,  he 
had  been  complaining  of  the  collapse  of  religious  feel- 
ing in  England,  and  I  had  said  to  him,  *  As  regards  the 
most  earnest  and  the  most  capable  of  the  men  of  a 
generation  younger  than  your  own,  if  one  writer  more 
than  another  has  been  influential  in  loosing  them  from 
their  theological  moorings,  thou  art  the  man  I '  Our 
talk  was  resumed  and  continued  as  he  sat  upon  the 
stump  and  smoked  his  placid  pipe  within  hearing  of 
the  storm.  I  said  to  him,  *  Despite  all  the  losses  you 
deplore,  there  is  one  great  gain.  We  have  extinguished 
that  horrible  spectre  which  darkened  with  its  death- 
wings  so  many  brave  and  pious  lives.  It  is  something 
to  have  abolished  Hell  firel'  *  Yes/  he  replied,  'that 


THOMAS  CARLYLE.  377 

is  a  distinct  and  an  enormous  gain.  My  own  father 
was  a  brave  man,  and,  though  poor,  unaccubtomed  to 
cower  before  the  face  of  man ;  but  the  Almighty  God 
was  a  different  matter.  You  and  I  do  not  believe  that 
Melchet  Court  exists,  and  that  we  shall  return  thither, 
more  firmly  than  he  believed  that,  after  his  death,  he 
would  have  to  face  a  judge  who  would  lift  him  into 
everlasting  bliss  or  doom  him  to  eternal  woe.  I  could 
notice  that  for  three  years  before  he  died  this  rugged-, 
honest  soul  trembled  to  its  depths  at  even  the  possible 
prospect  of  hell-fire.  It  surely  is  a  great  gain  to  have 
abolished  this  Terror.' 

Sir  Benjamin  Brodie,  the  great  surgeon,  a  man  of 
highly  philosophic  mind,  whose  intimate  friendship  I 
enjoyed  for  many  years  before  his  death,  always  held 
and  insisted  that  a  good  memory  was  essential  to  the 
making  of  a  great  man.  That  Carlyle's  memory  was 
astonishing  numerous  proofs  could  be  given.  One 
instance,  associated  with  a  fact  of  some  interest,  occurs 
to  me  as  I  write.  When,  struck  down  by  the  malady 
which  has  shorn  away  before  their  time  so  many 
precious  lives,  the  gifted  Clifford  was  approaching  his 
end,  I  called  one  evening  to  see  him  in  Quebec  Street, 
and  found  Professor  Groom  Robertson  at  his  bedside. 
Clifford  had  been  reading  a  work  on  Germany  'by 
Thomas  Carlyle,  Barrister-at-Law,'  and  conjecture  was 
set  afloat  to  determine  at  what  period  of  his  career 
Carlyle  had  donned  this  designation.  It  was  known 
that  he  once  had  thoughts  of  becoming  a  lawyer,  but 
it  was  not  known  that  he  had  ever  used  the  title  of  a 
lawyer.  Clifford  said,  '  The  subject  is  one  which 
Carlyle  might  be  expected  to  handle ;  the  style  is,  to 
some  extent,  that  with  which  we  are  so  well  acquainted, 
Btill,  the  book  is  one  which  nobody,  knowing  Carlyle, 


378  PERSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  OF 

could  suppose  him  to  have  written  at  any  period  of  his 
life.'  I  went  down  to  Chelsea  next  day.  and  made 
inquiries  about  the  authorship  of  the  volume.  '  Oh,' 
said  Carlyle  with  a  laugh,  '  that  was  "  the  Miracle." ' 
There  was  in  Annandale  a  second  Thomas  Carlyle, 
whose  cleverness,  when  a  youth,  caused  him  to  be 
looked  upon  as  a  prodigy.  Both  he  and  the  other 
Thomas  sent  from  time  to  time  mathematical  questions 
to  a  local  newspaper,  and  answered  them  mutually. 
Here  Carlyle's  extraordinary  memory  and  narrative 
power  came  into  play.  He  ran  some  centuries  back, 
struck  into 'the  Miracle's'  family  history,  and  traced  it 
to  that  hour.  While  studying  at  the  University  of 
Marburg,  I  had  been  one  morning  startled  by  the  in- 
telligence that  Thomas  Carlyle,  der  Enyldnder,  had 
arrived  in  that  historic  town.  On  inquiry,  however, 
I  found  that  it  was  not  my  Carlyle,  but  Carlyle  the 
Irvingite,  who  had  come  on  a  visit  to  Professor  Thiersch. 
It  was,  in  fact,  '  the  Miracle.'  The  Professor,  a  very 
distinguished  Greek  scholar  and  a  pious  man,  had  just 
joined  the  Irvingites  ;  hence  the  visit  of  *  the  Miracle.' 
Carlyle  spoke  with  feeling  regarding  what  he  considered 
to  be  the  decadence  and  spiritual  waste  of  his  namesake 
and  competitor,  who,  when  he  came  to  Marburg,  had,  I 
was  told,  the  rank  and  function  of  an  '  Apostle.' 

An  event,  important  in  its  relation  to  Carlyle's 
memory,  is  to  be  noted  here.  Meeting  one  day  in  the 
Athena3um  Club  Mr.  (now  Sir  Mountstuart)  Grrant- 
Duff,  he  informed  me  that  an  accomplished  American 
friend  of  his  was  very  anxious  to  know  Carlyle,  but 
that  he  was  held  back  by  the  notion  that  Carlyle  dis- 
liked Americans.  I  was  able  to  say  upon  the  spot  that 
this  was  an  error.  From  my  own  direct  questionings  I 
had  learned  that  the  feelings  of  the  old  man  were  those 
of  gratitude  rather  than  of  dislike.  At  a  time  when 


THOMAS  CARLYLE.  379 

his  own  countrymen,  failing  to  recognise  his  need  of  a 
form  of  expression  suited  to  his  genius,  had  set  him 
down  as  merely  eccentric  and  wayward — meting  out  to 
him  the  wages  of  eccentricity  and  waywardness,  and 
describing  the  work  in  which  he  had  invested  his  highest 
faculty  as  *  a  heap  of  clotted  nonsense ' — America, 
through  her  noblest  son,  had  opened  to  him  her  mind, 
her  heart,  her  purse.  Still,  to  make  assurance  doubly 
sure,  I  told  Grant-Duff  that  I  would  go  down  to  Chelsea 
and  make  myself  acquainted  with  Carlyle's  present 
feelings.  I  went,  and  mentioned  this  conjectural  dis- 
like of  Americans.  '  What  nonsense ! '  he  exclaimed  ; 
'  bring  him  down  here  immediately.'  The  gentleman 
here  referred  to  was,  and  is,  Mr.  Charles  Norton,  of 
Harvard  College.  He  came  to  Carlyle,  and  his  visit 
was  the  starting-point  of  a  friendship  which  proved  ita 
steadfastness  after  Carlyle  was  dead  and  gone.  With 
chivalrous  firmness  of  purpose  Mr.  Norton  has  sought, 
and  I  am  told  successfully  sought,  to  stem  and  roll 
back  the  foul  wave  of  detraction  and  abuse,  whereby 
inconsiderate  England  threatened  to  overwhelm  the 
memory  of  a  man  to  whom  her  best  and  bravest  owe  a 
debt  never  to  be  cancelled.  On  this  sad  subject,  how- 
ever, it  is  not  my  intention  to  dwell ;  but  many 
patriotic  men  regard  it  as  a  calamity  of  unspeakable 
magnitude,  that  Carlyle's  opinions  on  the  grave  ques- 
tions which  now  agitate  us  should  be  reduced  to  nullity. 
Were  he  amongst  us  he  could  point  for  our  instruction 
to  certain  apposite  phases  of  the  French  Revolution, 
which  he — incomparable  limner  that  he  was  I — has 
thrown  upon  the  canvas  of  History.  The  manifold 
coiling  of  fraternal  arms ;  the  friendships  sworn  and 
re-sworn  at  the  '  Feast  of  Pikes ' ;  the  pathetic  « Souper 
fraternelj  with  citizens  '  hobnobbing  in  the  streets  to 
the  reign  of  Liberty,  Equality,  Brotherhood';  and 

25 


380  PERSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  OF 

then,  ah  me !  the  law  of  gravity  illustrated  by  the 
incessant  fall  of  the  guillotine ;  the  hackings,  strang- 
lings,  fusillades,  and  noyades  ;  cargoes  of  men,  women, 
and  children  sunk  by  their  sworn  brothers  in  the  Loire 
and  the  Rhone !  One  can  fancy  his  presageful  coun- 
tenance were  be  to  witness  the  revival,  in  our  own  day, 
of  this  ghastly  farce  of  *  fraternity ' — unsexed,  it  is  true, 
and  converted  into  'sisterly  embraces.'  When  the 
manhood  of  England  has  departed,  this  nauseous 
sentimentalism  may  go  down  with  the  electorate — not 
before. 

My  recollection  here  reaches  back  to  two  powerful 
and  important  letters  published  by  Carlyle,  one  in  the 
Examiner  and  another  in  the  Spectator,  during  a 
former  Repeal  agitation.  Each  of  them  bore  the 
initial  *  C.'  as  signature.  His  bold  outspokenness  and 
fiery  eloquence  had  endeared  him  to  the  enthusiastic 
Young  Irelanders,  and  it  was  thought  that  a  word  from 
him  would,  at  the  time,  be  a  word  in  season.  These 
letters  had  been  read  by  me  with  profound  interest 
when  they  first  appeared,  and  I  notified  their  existence 
to  more  than  one  able  editor,  when  Carlyle's  name  was 
mentioned  a  year  or  two  ago  in  the  House  of  Commons. 
Standing  recently  beside  the  bookstall  at  Grodalming 
railway -station,  I  took  up  a  quaint  little  book,  with  a 
quaintly-printed  title  on  its  cover — '  A  Pearl  of  English 
Rhetoric.  Thomas  Carlyle  on  the  Repeal  of  tho 
Union.'  It  was  a  reprint  of  one  of  the  letters  signed 
'  C.,'  to  which  I  have  just  referred.  After  long  burial 
it  had  been  unearthed,  and  thus  restored  to  the  public. 
I  give  here  a  sample  of  its  arguments  against 
Repeal : — 

1  Consider,'  says  the  pearl-diver,  *  whether,  on  any 
terms,  England  can  have  her  house  cut  in  two  and  a 
foreign  nation  lodged  in  her  back  parlour  itself?  Not 


381 

in  any  measure  conceivable  by  the  liveliest  imagination 
that  will  be  candid  I  England's  heavy  job  of  work, 
inexorably  needful  to  be  done,  cannot  go  on  at  all 
unless  her  back  parlour,  too,  belong  to  herself.  With 
foreign  controversies,  parliamentary  eloquences,  with 
American  sympathisers,  Parisian  6meutiera,  Ledru 
Rollins,  and  a  world  just  now  [1848]  fallen  into  bottom- 
less anarchy,  parading  incessantly  through  her  back 
parlour,  no  nation  can  go  on  with  any  work.  .  .  .  Let 
Irish  patriots  seek  some  other  remedy  than  repealing 
the  Union  ;  let  all  men  cease  to  talk  or  speculate  on 
that,  since  once  for  all  it  cannot  be  done.  In  no  con- 
ceivable circumstances  could  or  durst  a  British  Minister 
propose  to  concede  such  a  thing :  the  British  Minister 
that  proposed  it  would  deserve  to  be  impeached  as  a 
traitor  to  his  high  post,  and  to  lose  his  worthless  head. 
Nay,  if,  in  the  present  cowardly  humour  of  most 
Ministers  and  governing  persons,  and  loud,  insane 
babble  of  anarchic  men,  a  traitorous  Minister  did  con- 
sent to  help  himself  over  the  evil  hour  by  yielding  to 
it  and  conceding  its  mad  demand — even  he,  whether  he 
saved  his  traitorous  head  or  lost  it,  would  have  done 
nothing  towards  the  Eepeal  of  the  Union.  While  a 
British  citizen  is  left,  there  is  left  a  protestor  against 
our  country  being  occupied  by  foreigners,  a  repealer  of 
the  Repeal.' 

Carlyle's  mind  \vas  not  of  a  texture  to  be  greatly 
flurried  by  the  prospect  of  confusion  and  bloodshed 
which  the  Repeal  of  the  Union  would  infallibly  carry 
in  its  train.  He  would  have  grimly  accepted  this 
result.  But  he  would  have  been  moved  to  the  depths 
of  his  nature  by  the  Liberal  palinode  of  1886,  and  the 
consequent  spread  of  untruth  among  a  straightforward 
and  truth-loving  people.  '  A  national  wound,'  he  would 
have  said,  'may  be  healed  by  the  hjalthy  surgery  of  the 


382  PERSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  OF 

sword,  but  not  when  it  is  accompanied  by  national 
putrefaction.'  He  would  have  made  his  own  observa- 
tions on  the  fell  potency  of  that  party  virus  which  has 
brought  men  whom  he  regarded  and  loved  as  younger 
brothers  into  partnership  with  so  much  that  is  mean 
and  mendacious  in  political  life.  They  have,  I  doubt 
not,  their  hours  of  misgiving,  if  not  of  self-accusa- 
tion. 

A  word  or  two  may  here  be  thrown  in  as  to  Carlyle's 
relation  to  the  'Nigger  question.'  He  undoubtedly 
rated  the  white  man  above  the  black.  The  capacity  oi 
rising  to  a  higher  blessedness,  and  of  suffering  a  deeper 
woe,  he  deemed  the  prerogative  and  doom  of  the  white. 
Hence  his  sympathy  with  the  yellow-coloured  weavers 
of  Lancashire,  as  against  '  black  Quashee  over  the  seas.' 
Even  among  ourselves  he  insisted  on  indelible  differ- 
ences. Wise  culture  could  make  the  cabbage  a  good 
cabbage  and  the  oak  a  good  oak  ;  but  culture  could  not 
transform  the  one  into  the  other.  It  is  interesting  to 
observe  how  Locke's  image  of  a  sheet  of  white  paper, 
on  which  education  could  write  everything  at  will,  laid 
hold  of  even  powerful  minds.  I  had  many  discussions 
•with  the  late  Mr.  Babbage  upon  this  subject.  His 
belief  in  the  all-potency  of  education,  as  applied  to  the 
individual,  I  could  not  share.  Brains  differ,  like  voices ; 
and  as  the  voice-organ  of  a  great  singer  must  be  the 
gift  of  Nature,  so  the  brain-organ  of  the  great  man 
must  also  be  a  natural  gift.  Nobody  who  knew  Carlylo 
could  dream  for  a  moment  that  he  meant  to  be  unfair, 
much  less  cruel,  towards  the  blacks.  '  Do  I  then  hate 
the  Negro  ?  No  ;  Except  when  the  soul  is  killed  out 
of  him  I  decidedly  like  poor  Quashee.  A  swift,  supple 
fellow ;  a  merry-hearted  affectionate  kind  of  creature, 
with  a  great  deal  of  melody  and  amenability  in  his 


THOMAS  CARLYLE.  383 

composition.'  It  was  not  the  guilt  of  '  a  skin  not 
coloured  like  his  own,'  but  the  demoralising  idleness  of 
the  negro  amid  his  pumpkins,  that  drew  down  the  con- 
demnation of  Carlyle.  His  feelings  towards  the  idle, 
pampered  white  man  were  more  contemptuous  and  un- 
sparing than  towards  the  black.  *  A  poor  negro  over- 
worked on  the  Cuba  sugar  grounds,  he  is  sad  to  look 
upon  ;  yet  he  inspires  me  with  sacred  pity,  and  a  kind 
of  human  respect  is  not  denied  him.  But  with  what 
feelings  can  I  look  upon  an  over-fed  white  flunkey,  if 
I  know  his  ways  ?  Pity  is  not  for  him,  or  not  a  soft 
kind  of  it ;  nor  is  any  remedy  visible  except  abolition 
at  no  distant  date.'  In  '  Sartor '  he  writes :  '  Two  men 
I  honour,  and  no  third.  First,  the  toil-worn  craftsman 
that,  with  earth-made  implement,  laboriously  conquers 
the  earth,  and  makes  her  man's.  A  second  man  I 
honour,  and  still  more  highly :  Him  who  is  seen  toiling 
for  the  spiritually  indispensable  ;.not  daily  bread,  but 
the  bread  of  life.' 

Still,  it  must  be  admitted  that  Carlyle  estimated 
the  whites  as  of  greater  value  than  the  blacks  ;  and  he 
deprecated  the  diversion  towards  the  African  of  power 
which  might  find  a  more  profitable  field  of  action  at 
home.  Perhaps  he  saw  too  vividly,  and  resented  too 
warmly,  the  mistakes  sometimes  made  by  philanthro- 
pists, whereby  their  mercies  are  converted  into  cruelties. 
We  see  at  the  present  moment  a  philanthropy,  which 
would  be  better  named  an  insanity,  acting  in  violent 
opposition  to  the  wise  and  true  philanthropists,  who 
are  aiming  at  the  extinction  of  rabies  among  dogs,  and 
of  its  horrible  equivalent,  hydrophobia,  among  men. 
Reason  is  lost  on  such  people,  and  instead  of  reason 
Carlyle  gave  them  scorn.  Perhaps  he  was  too  scornful. 
History  had  revealed  to  him  the  unspeakable  horrors 
of  a  black  insurrection.  Hence  his  action,  as  regards 


384  PERSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  OF 

Governor  Eyre,  after  the  outbreak  at  Morant  Bay.1 
*  Hell  had  broken  loose,  and  the  fire  must  be  quenched 
at  any  cost.'  Perhaps  he  was  right ;  perhaps  he  was 
wrong.  The  question  at  the  time  produced  an  extra- 
ordinary cleavage  among  intimate  friends  ;  but  not,  to 
my  knowledge,  did  it  produce  any  permanent  estrange- 
ment. Huxley  and  Spencer  fought  like  brothers  under 
a  common  flag ;  Hooker  and  myself,  equally  fraternal, 
under  the  opposite  one.  We  surely  did  not  love  each 
other  less  afterwards  because  of  this  temporary  diver- 
gence of  judgment".  I  fervently  trust  that  all  our 
differences  may  have  a  similar  end. 

*  It  is  related,'  says  Dr.  Grarnet,  *  that,  fascinated  by 
the  grand  figure  of  Michael  Angelo,  he  [Carlyle]  once 
announced  his  intention  of  writing  his  life.'  He  would 
have  thus  added  to  his  picture-gallery  '  The  Hero  as 
Artist.'  Carlyle  would  have  found  *  The  Hero  as  Man 
of  Science '  a  more  fitting  theme.  He  had  mastered 
the  *  Principia,'  and  was  well  aware  of  the  vast  revolu- 
tionary change  wrought,  not  in  Science  only,  but  in  the 
whole  world  of  thought,  by  the  theory  ef  gravitation. 
The  apparently  innocent  statement,  that  every  particle 
of  matter  attracted  every  other  particle  with  a  force 
which  was  a  function  of  the  distance  between  them, 
carried  the  mind  away  from  the  merely  falling  atoms 
of  Epicurus  and  Lucretius  to  conceptions  of  molecular 
forces.  By  their  aid  we  look  intellectually  into  the 
architecture  of  crystals.  But  the  inquiring  spirit  of  man 
cannot  stop  there.  It  now  recognises,  with  what  ulti- 

1 1  may  here  say  that  when  speaking  to  Governor  Eyre  upon  the 
subject,  he  declared  to  me  that  he  knew  as  little,  at  the  time,  about 
the  floggings  of  women  and  other  cruelties,  as  I  did.  But  though 
be  might  have  mitigated  the  severity  of  the  verdict  against  himself 
by  shifting  the  odium  on  to  his  subordinates,  he  refused  to  do  so, 
and  accepted  all  the  blame. 


THOMAS  CAELYLE.  335 

mate  results  we  know  not,  the  all-potent  play  of 
molecular  forces  in  the  animal  and  vegetable  organisms. 
Without,  however,  trenching  upon  these  points,  which 
Carlyle  saw  as  in  a  glass  darkly,  he  would  have  found 
in  Newton  or  Boyle  an  appropriate  subject.  Had  he 
taken  either  of  them  in  hand,  he  would  undoubtedly  have 
turned  out  an  impressive  figure.  Boyle  especially 
would,  I  imagine,  have  appealed  to  his  sympathies  and 
love. 

The  mistake,  not  unfrequently  made,  of  supposing 
Carlyle's  mind  to  be  unscientific,  may  be  further 
glanced  at  here.  The  scientific  reader  of  his  works 
mu-t  have  noticed  the  surprising  accuracy  of  the 
metaphors  he  derived  from  Science.  Without  sound 
knowledge  such  uniform  exactitude  would  not  have 
been  possible.  He  laid  the  whole  body  of  the  sciences 
under  contribution — Astronomy,  from  the  nebular 
theory  onwards  ;  mathematics,  physics,  chemistry,  geo- 
logy, natural  history — drawing  illustrations  from  all  of 
them,  grinding  the  appropriate  parts  of  each  of  them 
into  paint  for  his  marvellous  pictures.  Quite  as  clearly 
as  the  professed  physicist  he  grasped  the  principle  of 
Continuity,  and  saw  the  interdependence  of '  parts '  in 
the  '  stupendous  Whole.'  To  him  the  Universe  was  not 
a  Mechanism,  but  an  Organism — each  part  of  it  thril- 
ling and  responding  sympathetically  with  all  other  parts. 
Igdrasil,  '  the  Tree  of  Existence,'  was  his  favourite 
image  : — *  Considering  how  human  things  circulate 
each  inextricably  in  communication  with  all,  I  find  no 
similitude  so  true  as  this  of  a  tree.  Beautiful ;  alto- 
gether beautiful,  and  great.  The  "  Machine  of  the 
Universe," — alas,  do  but  think  of  that  in  contrast  1 '' 
Other  penetrative  minds  have  made  us  familiar Vith  the 

1  Heroct  and  Hero-  Worship,  Library  Edition,  p.  25. 


386  PERSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  OF 

*  Soiaal  Organism,'  but  Carlyle  saw  early  and  utilised 
nobly  the  beauty  and  the  truth  of  the  metaphor. 

In  the  month  of  May,  1  840,  the  foregoing  wordd 
were  spoken.  Harking  back  to  1831,  we  find  him  at 
Craigenputtock,  drawing  this  picture  : — '  As  I  rode 
through  the  Schwarzwald  I  said  to  myself:  That  little 
fire  which  glows  star-like  across  the  dark-growing  moor, 
where  the  sooty  smith  bends  over  his  anvil,  and  thou 
hopest  to  replace  thy  lost  horseshoe — is  it  a  detached, 
separated  speck,  cut  off  from  the  whole  universe ;  or  is 
it  indissolubly  joined  to  the  whole  ?  Thou  fool,  that 
smithy-fire  was  primarily  kindled  at  the  sun.'  (Joule 
and  Mayer  were  scientifically  unborn  when  these  words 
were  written.)  He  continues  : — 'Detached,  separated  ! 
I  say  there  is  no  such  separation  ;  nothing  hitherto  was 
ever  stranded,  cast  aside  ;  but  all,  were  it  only  a  withered 
leaf,  works  together  with  all,  and  lives  through  perpetual 
metamorphoses.'  With  its  parts  in  '  aBterne  alterna- 
tion '  the  universe  presented  itself  to  the  mind  of  Car- 
lyle. l  The  drop  which  thou  shakest  from  thy  wet  hand 
rests  not  where  it  falls,  but  to-morrow  thou  findest  it 
swept  away ;  already  on  the  wings  of  the  north-wind 
it  is  nearing  the  Tropic  of  Cancer.  How  came  it  to 
evaporate  and  not  lie  motionless?  Thinkest  thou 
there  is  ought  motionless ;  without  force  and  utterly 
dead  ? ' l  Such  passages — and  they  abound  in  his 
writings — might  justify  us  in  giving  Carlyle  the  credit 
of  poetically,  but  accurately,  foreshadowing  the  doctrine 
of  the  Conservation  of  Energy.  As  a  physiologist 
describes  the  relation  of  nerve  to  muscle,  he  hits  off 
the  function,  and  the  fate,  of  demagogues  in  revolu- 
tionary times  : — '  Record  of  their  thought  remains  not ; 
death  and  darkness  have  swept  it  out  utterly.  Nay, 

1  Sartor  Resartus,  Library  Edition,  pp.  68,  69. 


THOMAS  CAKLYLE.  387 

if  we  had  their  thought,  all  that  they  could  have  articu- 
lately spoken  to  us,  how  insignificant  a  fraction  were 
that  of  the  Thing  which  realised  "itself,  which  decreed 
itself,  on  signal  given  by  them!'  Thus,  a  howling 
Marat,  or  a  sea-green  Kobespieire  was  able  to  unlock 
forces  infinitely  in  excess  of  his  own. 

It  was  not  the  absence  of  scientific  power  and  pre- 
cision, so  much  as  the  overwhelming  importance  which 
Carlyle  ascribed  to  ethical  considerations  and  influences, 
tli at  determined  his  attitude  towards  natural  science. 
The  fear  that  moral  strength  might  be  diminished  by 
Darwin's  doctrine  accounts  for  such  hostility  as  he 
showed  to  the  '  Origin  of  Species.'  We  had  many  calm 
and  reasonable  conversations  on  this  and  kindred  sub- 
jects; and  I  could  see  that  his  real  protest  was  against 
being  hemmed  in.  He  demanded  a  larger  area  than 
that  offered  by  science  for  speculative  action  and  its 
associated  emotion.  l  Yes,  Friends,'  he  says  in  *  Sartor,' 

*  not  our  Logical  Mensurative  faculty,  but  our  Imagi- 
native one  is  King  over  us.' '     Worship  he  defined  as 

*  transcendent  wonder ' ;  and  the  lifting  of  the  heart  by 
worship   was  a  safeguard   against  moral    putrefaction. 
Science,  he  feared,  tended   to  destroy  this  sentiment. 
I    may    remark   here    that,  as  a   corrective  of  super- 
stition, science,  even  when  it  acts  thus,  is  altogether 
salutary.     But  preoccupation  alone  could  close  the  eyes 
of  the  student  of  natural  science  to  the   fact  that  the 
long  line  of  his   researches  is,  in  reality,   a   line  of 
wonders.     There  are  freethinkers  who  imagine  them- 
selves able  to  sound  with  their  penny  twine-balls  the 
ocean   of  immensity.     With    such   Carlyle   had   little 
sympathy.     He  was  a  freethinker  of  wiser  and  nobler 
mould.     The  miracles  of  orthodoxy  were  to  him,  as  to 

1  Book  III.,  Symbols. 


388  PERSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  OP 

his  friend  Emerson,  *  Monsters.'  To  Loth  of  them  '  the 
blowing  clover  and  the  falling  rain '  were  the  true 
miracles.  Napoleon  gazing  at  the  stars,  and  gravelling 
his  savants  with  the  question  :  *  Gentlemen,  who  made 
all  that  ?' commended  itself  to  their  common  sympathy, 
It  was  the  illegitimate  science  which,  in  its  claims, 
overstepped  its  warrant — professing  to  explain  every- 
thing, and  to  sweep  the  universe  clear  of  mystery — that 
was  really  repugnant  to  Carlyle. 

Here  a  personal  recollection  comes  into  view  which, 
as  it  throws  a  pleasant  light  on  the  relations  of  Carlyle 
and  Darwin,  may  be  worth  recording.  Like  many 
other  noble  ladies,  Lady  Derby  was  a  warm  friend  of 
Carlyle;  and  once,  during  an  entire  summer,  Keston 
Lodge  was  placed  by  Lord  Derby  at  Carlyle's  disposal. 
From  the  seat  of  our  common  friend,  Sir  John  Lubbock, 
where  we  had  been  stay  ing,  the  much-mourned  William 
Spottiswoode  and  myself  once  walked  over  to  the  Lodge 
to  see  Carlyle.  He  was  absent;  but  as  we  returned 
we  met  him  and  his  niece,  the  present  Mrs.  Alexander 
Carlyle,1  driving  home  in  a  pony  carriage.  I  had 
often  expressed  to  him  the  wish  that  he  and  Darwin 
might  meet ;  for  it  could  not  be  doubted  that  the  nobly 
candid  character  of  the  great  naturalist  would  make 
its  due  impression.  The  wish  was  fulfilled.  He 
met  us  with  the  exclamation  :  '  Well,  I  have  been  to 
pee  Darwin.'  He  paused,  and  I  expressed  my  delight. 
*  Yes,'  he  added,  '  I  have  been  to  see  him,  and  a  more 
charming  man  I  have  never  met  in  my  life.' 

The  sad  years  rolled  on,  and  I  began  at  length  to 
notice  a  lowering  of  his  power  of  conversation,  and  a 

1  To  whom  he  was  indebted  not  only  for  her  affectionate  care 
of  his  health,  but  occasionally,  in  later  years,  for  wise  counsel  where 
bis  own  faltering  judgment  might  have  led  him  wrong. 


THOMAS  CARLYLE.  389 

tendency  to  somnolence,  which  contrasted  strongly 
with  the  brisk  and  fierce  alacrity  of  former  times.  On 
one  occasion  when  I  called,  this  was  specially  notice- 
able. He  was  seated  before  the  fire,  with  Mr.  Brown- 
ing l  for  his  companion.  We  entered  into  conversation, 
which,  in  Carlyle's  case,  was  limited  to  the  answering 
of  a  question  addressed  to  him  now  and  then.  I  was 
uware  of  the  poet's  habit  of  early  rising,  and  of  his 
hard  work,  and  I  wished  to  know  something  of  the 
antecedents  of  ,so  strenuous  and  so  illustrious  a  life. 
Mr.  Browning's  father  and  grandfather  came  thus  to  be 
spoken  of.  Carlyle  seemed  at  length  to  rouse  himself. 
'Browning,' he  said, 'it  was  your  ancestor  that  broke 
the  boom  stretched  across  the  Foyle,  and  relieved 
Derry,  when  the  city  was  besieged  by  James's  army.' 
He  named  the  ship.  '  Surely  not,'  I  said ;  '  it  was  the 
Dartmouth.'  In  saying  this,  I  relied  more  upon  songs 
committed  to  memory  in  boyhood,2  than  upon  his- 
torical knowledge.  Carlyle  was  right.  The  relief  of 
Derry  is  described  by  Macaulay,  who  has  given  honour 
to  whom  honour  is  due. 

One  other  trivial  item,  almost  the  last,  may  be 
here  set  down.  In  his  days  of  visible  sinking,  I  took 
down  to  him  a  small  supply  of  extremely  old  pale 
brandy  from  the  stores  of  Justerini  &  Brooks,  to- 
gether with  a  few  of  the  best  cigars  that  I  could  find. 
On  visiting  him  subsequently,  I  found  that  he  had 
haidly  touched  either  the  one  or  the  other.  Thinking 

1  Vigorous  when  this  page  was  written ;  now,  alas  I  no  more. 
The  reverent  affection  with  which  the  poet  spoke  of,  and  to,  Carlyla 
w;us  a  delightful  feature  of  this  interview. 

*  The  strophe  on  which  my  opinion  was  founded  runs  thus : — 
'  The  Dartmouth  spreads  her  snow-white  sail, 

Her  purple  pendant  flying  0, 
While  we  the  dauntless  heroes  hail, 
Who  saved  us  all  from  dying  0.' 


390  PERSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  OF 

them  worth  a  trial,  I  mixed  some  brandy  and  water  in 
a  tumbler,  and  placing  a  cigar  between  his  fingers, 
gave  him  a  light.  The  vigour  of  his  puffs  astonished 
me ;  his  strength  as  a  smoker  seemed  unimpaired. 
With  the  view  of  supporting  him,  I  placed  myself  on 
the  sofa  behind  him.  After  a  time,  putting  aside  the 
half-consumed  cigar,  he  drank  off  the  brandy-and- 
water,  and  with  a  smile  gleaming  in  his  eye,1  remarked 
'  That's  well  over.'  Soon  afterwards  he  fell  asleep. 
Quietly  relinquishing  my  position  as  pillow,  I  left  him 
in  slumber.  This,  to  the  best  of  my  recollection,  was 
the  last  time  I  saw  Thomas  Carlyle. 

The  disintegration  of  the  firm  masonry  went  rapidly 
on,  and  at  length  the  noble  tower  fell.  Carlyle  died  on 
February  5,  1«81. 

Immediately  afterwards  1  was  visited  by  Mr.  Froude, 
who  came  to  inform  me  of  the  arrangements  made  for 
the  funeral.  In  touching  language  he  described  the 
placid  beauty  of  the  dead  man's  face,  contrasting  it 
with  the  stern  grandeur  of  Mrs.  Carlyle's  countenance 
in  her  last  sleep.  The  brave  and  sympathetic  Stanley 
wished  to  have  him  in  Westminster  Abbey,  but  this 
Carlyle  had  steadily  declined.  Troops  of  friends  from  all 
accessible  places  would  have  reverently  made  their  way 
to  the  burial-ground  of  Ecclefechan,  but  it  was  thought 
desirable  to  make  the  funeral  as  quiet  and  as  simple  as 
possible.  Lecky,  Froude,  and  myself  formed  a  small 
delegation  from  London.  We  journeyed  together  north- 
wards, halting  at  Carlisle  for  the  night.  Snow  was  on 

1  I  think  it  was  the  late  Mr.  Donne  who  once  remarked  to  me 
that  Carlyle's  heard,  by  hiding  the  grimly-set  mouth,  greatly  im- 
proved his  aspect.  '  His  eye  was  tender  and  sweet."  A  comparison 
of  the  frontispiece  of  Heroes  and  Hero-  Worsfiijt  with  that  of  Sartor 
Ilesartus  (Library  Editions)  will  illustrate  Mr.  Donne's  meaning  and 
justify  his  observation. 


THOMAS  CARLYLE.  391 

the  ground  next  morning  as  we  proceeded  by  rail  to 
the  station  of  Ecclefechan.  Here  we  found  the  hearse 
powdered  over  by  the  frozen  shower  of  the  preceding 
night.  Through  the  snow-slop  we  walked  to  Mainhill, 
the  farmhouse  where  Carlyle,  in  1824,  completed  the 
translation  of  'Wilhelm  Meister.'  It  may  have  been 
the  state  of  the  weather,  but  Mainhill  seemed  to  me 
narrow,  cold,  humid,  uncomfortable.  We  returned  to 
Ecclefechan,  I  taking  shelter  for  a  time  in  the  signal- 
room  of  the  station.  Here  I  conversed  with  the 
signalman,  an  intelligent  fellow,  who  wished  me  to 
know  that  Mr.  James  Carlyle,  who  was  still  amongst 
them,  was  fit  to  take  rank  in  point  of  intellect  with 
his  illustrious  brother.  At  the  appointed  hour  we 
joined  the  carriage  procession  to  the  churchyard.  There, 
without  funeral  rite  or  prayer,  we  saw  the  coffin  which 
contained  the  body  of  Carlyle  lowered  to  its  last  resting- 
So  passed  away  one  of  the  glories  of  the  world. 


392  ON   UNVEILING  THE  STATUE  OF 


ON  UNVEILING   THE  STATUE  OF  THOMAS 
CARLYLE. 

(2Cth  October,  1882.) 

AMID  scenes  well  calculated  to  tinge  the  mind  with 
solemnity,  if  not  with  awe,  I  have  lately  thought 
a  good  deal  of  the  hour  that  is  now  come,  and  of  the  man 
in  loving  memory  of  whom  we  are  here  assembled.  And 
with  my  thoughts  sometimes  mingled  the  very  genuine 
wish  that  the  honourable  but  trying  task  now  before  me 
had  been  committed  to  worthier  hands.  Without  con- 
scious disloyalty,  however,  I  could  not  decline  the  request 
of  the  Carlyle  Memorial  Committee ;  and  so,  without 
further  preface  or  apology,  here  I  am. 

You  have  heard  much  this  year  of  the  bi-decennial 
festival  known  as  the  Preston  Guild.  Two  Guilds  ago, 
that  is  to  say  in  1842,  I  was  a  youth  in  Preston,  being 
attached  to  a  division  of  the  Ordnance  Survey  then 
stationed  there.  It  was  a  period  of  gloom  and  suffer- 
ing in  the  manufacturing  districts.  Some  time  prior 
to  the  Guild,  processions  of  another  kind  filled  the 
streets — crowds  of  shiftless  and  hungry  men  who  had 
been  discharged  from  the  silent  mills.  In  their  help- 
lessness and  misery  they  had  turned  out,  so  that  their 
condition  might  be  seen  of  all.  Well,  in  Lune  Street, 
down  which  we  could  look  from  our  office,  the  tumult 
one  day  became  unmanageable.  Heated  by  its  own  in- 


THOMAS  CARLYLE.  393 

teraction  and  attrition,  the  crowd  blazed  out  into  open 
riot,  and  attacked  the  bakers'  shops.  Soldiers  had 
been  summoned  to  meet  this  contingency.  Acting 
under  orders,  they  fired  upon  the  people,  and  the  riot 
was  quelled  at  the  cost  of  blood; 

At  the  very  time  when  these  things  were  occurring 
in  Lancashire,  Thomas  Carlyle  was  at  work  on  '  Past 
and  Present '  at  No.  5  Cheyne  Row,  Chelsea.  The  cry 
of  the  famishing  weavers  came  up  to  him  from  the 
North,  and  drew  from  him  his  memorable  appeal  to 
Exeter  Hall : — '  In  thee  too  is  a  kind  of  instinct  to- 
wards justice,  and  I  will  complain  of  nothing.  Only, 
Quashee  over  the  seas  being  once  provided  for,  wilt  thou 
not  open  thine  eyes  to  the  hunger-stricken,  pallid,  yellow- 
coloured  "  Free  Labourers  "  of  Lancashire,  Yorkshire, 
Buckinghamshire,  and  all  other  shires  ?  These  yellow- 
coloured,  for  the  present,  absorb  all  my  sympathies. 
If  I  had  a  twenty  millions,  with  model  farms  and  Niger 
expeditions,  it  is  to  them  that  I  would  give  it.  Why, 
in  one  of  these  Lancashire  weavers,  dying  of  hunger, 
there  is  more  thought  and  heart,  a  greater  arithmetical 
amount  of  misery  and  desperation,  than  in  whole  gangs 
of  Quashees.'  Copied  into  the  Preston  newspapers  at 
the  time,  these  were  the  first  words  of  Carlyle  that  I 
ever  read.  After  the  rattle  of  musketry  and  spatter 
of  bullets,  among  the  weavers  and  spinners  in  Lune 
Street,  they  rang,  I  confess,  with  strange  impressiveness 
in  my  ears. 

Carlyle's  defects  of  feeling — if  such  there  were — 
could  only  have  reference  to  the  distribution  of  his 
sympathy,  not  to  its  amount.  His  pity  was  vast, 
and  only  his  division  of  it  between  black  and  white 
could  be  called  in  question.  The  condition  of  his' 
toiling  fellow-countrymen  oppressed  him  like  a  night- 
mare. Day  and  night  for  years  he  had  brooded  upon 


394  ON  UNVEILING  THE  STATUE  OF 

this  subject,  if  haply  a  gleam  might  be  discerned  show- 
ing the  way  towards  amelioration.  Braver  or  wiser 
words  were  never  addressed  to  the  aristocracy  of  England 
than  those  addressed  to  them  by  Carlyle.  Braver  or 
wiser  words  were  never  addressed  to  the  Radicalism  of 
England  than  those  uttered  by  the  same  strenuous 
spirit.  He  saw  clearly  the  iniquity  of  the  Corn  Laws, 
and  his  condemnation  fell  upon  them,  like  the  stone  of 
Scripture,  grinding  them  to  powder.  With  equal  clear- 
ness he  saw  the  vanity  of  expecting  political  wisdom 
from  intellectual  ignorance,  however  backed  by  num- 
bers. It  was  like  digging  for  diamonds  in  Thames 
mud.  Hence  the  pressing  need  of  public  education, 
and  hence  his  powerful  advocacy,  in  advance,  of  what 
his  friend  Forster  has,  in  these  later  days,  in  great  part 
realised.  He  urged  the  necessity  of  an  organised 
system  of  emigration,  and  it  might  have  been  well  had 
his  prevision  been  translated  long  ago  into  action.  But 
though,  as  regards  these  and  other  matters,  he  uttered 
his  views  with  a  strength  and  clearness  peculiar  to  him- 
self, his  aim,  politically,  was  rather  to  elevate  and  en- 
noble public  life  generally  than  to  enunciate  special 
measure?.  His  influence  went  far  beyond  the  sphere 
of  politics.  No  man  of  his  day  and  generation  threw 
so  much  of  resolution  and  moral  elevation  into  the 
hearts  and  lives  of  the  young.  Concerning  the  claims 
of  duty  and  the  dignity  of  work,  never  man  spake  like 
this  man.  A  friend  and  I  agreed  some  time  ago  to 
describe  him  as  *  dynamic,'  not '  didactic  ' — a  spiritual 
force,  which  warmed,  moved,  and  invigorated,  but  which 
refused  to  be  clipped  into  precepts.  He  desired  truth 
iu  the  inward  parts.  To  the  Sham,  however  highly 
placed  and  run  after,  his  language  was  :  4  Depart  hence, 
in  the  Devil's  name,  un worshipped  by  at  least  one  roan, 
and  leave  the  thoroughfare  clear.'  But  his  spirit  leaped 


THOMAS  CARLYLE.  395 

fco  recognise  true  merit  and  man  fulness  in  all  their 
phases  and  spheres  of  action.  Braidwood  amid  the 
flames  of  Tooley  Street,  and  the  riddled  Vengeur  sink- 
ing to  the  cry  of  *  Vive  la  Republique  ! '  found  in  his 
strong  soul  sympathetic  admiration.  He,  however, 
prized  courage  less  than  truth  ;  and  when  he  found  the 
story  of  the  Vengeur  to  be  a  lie,  he  transfixed  it,  and 
hung  it  up  as  an  historic  scarecrow.  The  summer 
lightning  of  his  humour,  and  the  splendour  of  an  ima- 
gination perhaps  without  a  parallel  in  literature,  served 
only  to  irradiate  and  vivify  labours  marked  by  a 
thoroughness  in  searching,  and  a  patience  in  sifting, 
never  yet  surpassed.  The  bias  of  his  mind  was  cer- 
tainly towards  what  might  be  called  the  military  virtues ; 
thinking,  as  he  did,  that  they  could  not  be  dispensed 
with  in  the  present  temper  of  the  world.  But,  though 
he  bore  about  him  the  image  and  superscription  of  a 
great  military  commander,  had  he  been  a  statesman,  as 
he  might  well  have  been,  he  would  at  any  fit  arid  proper 
moment  have  joyfully  accepted  as  the  weapons  of  his 
warfare,  instead  of  the  sword  and  spear,  the  ploughshare 
and  pruning-hook  of  peaceful  civic  life. 

One  point,  touching  Carlyle's  ethics,  may  be  referred 
to  here.  Taking  all  that  science  has  done  in  the  past, 
all  that  she  has  achieved  in  the  present,  and  all  that 
she  is  likely  to  compass  in  the  future — will  she  at 
length  have  told  us  everything,  rendering  our  know- 
ledge of  this  universe  rounded  and  complete  ?  The 
answer  is  clear.  After  science  has  completed  her 
mission  upon  earth,  the  finite  known  will  still  be  em- 
braced by  the  infinite  unknown.  And  this  '  boundless 
contiguity  of  shade,'  by  which  our  knowledge  is  hemmed 
in,  will  always  tempt  the  exercise  of  belief  and  imagi- 
nation. The  human  mind,  in  its  structural  and  poetic 
capacity,  can  never  be  prevented  from  building  ita 

26 


396  ON  UNVEILING  THE  STATUE  OF 

castles — on  the  rock  or  in  the  air,  as  the  case  may  be- 
in  this  ultra-scientific  region.  Certainly  the  mind  of 
Carlyle  could  not  have  been  prevented  from  doing  so. 
Out  of  pure  Unintelligence  he  held  that  Intelligence 
never  could  have  sprung,  and  so,  at  the  heart  of  things, 
he  placed  an  Intelligence — an  Energy  which,  *  to  avoid 
circuitous  periphrasis,  we  call  God.'  I  am  here  repeat- 
ing his  own  words  to  myself.  Every  reader  of  his  works 
will  have  recognised  the  burning  intensity  of  his  convic- 
tion that  this  universe  is  ruled  by  veracity  and  justice, 
which  are  sure  in  the  end  to  scorch  and  dissipate  all 
falsehood  and  wrong. 

And  now  I  come  to  the  charge  so  frequently  made 
against  him,  that  he  was  the  apostle  of  Might.  He  felt, 
perhaps  more  deeply  than  his  assailants,  the  radical  and 
ineffaceable  difference  which  often  subsists  between 
might  and  right.  But 

His  faith  was  large  in  time, 
And  that  which  shapes  it  to  some  perfect  end, 

His  own  words,  which  are  to  be  found  in  the  8th  chapter 
of  '  Chartism,'  are  these : — '  Might  and  Eight  do  differ 
frightfully  from  hour  to  hour  ;  but  give  them  centuries 
to  try  it  in,  and  they  are  found  in  the  end  to  be  identical.' 
Viewed  in  the  light  of  this  utterance,  the  advocacy  of 
Might  is  not,  in  the  abstract,  offensive;  for  it  meant  at 
bottom  the  assertion  that,  in  the  end,  that  only  is 
mighty  which  has  the  '  Law  of  the  Universe '  on  ita 
side.  With  Carlyle,  as  with  Empedocles,  Lucretius, 
and  Darwin,  the  Fit  survives.  His  doctrine  is  the 
doctrine  of  science,  not  'touched'  but  saturated  with 
religious  emotion.  For  the  operation  of  Force — the 
scientific  agent — his  deep  and  yearning  soul  substituted 
the  operation  of  the  Energy  before  referred  to,  which, 
to  avoid  periphrasis,  we  call  God. 

The    '  Abbey '    would    have    opened    its    doors    to 


THOMAS  CARLYLE.  397 

welcome  him,  but  he  chose  to  lie  down  among  his  own, 
in  the  humble  burial-ground  of  Ecclefechan,  where 
many  a  reverent  pilgrim  of  the  future  will  look  upon 
his  grave.  Since  his  death  we  have  had  misjudgment 
and  misapprehension  manifold  regarding  him  and  his ; 
but  these  are  essentially  evanescent,  and  I  therefore  pass 
them  by  with  a  simple  comparison  to  mark  their  value. 
In  Switzerland  I  live  in  the  immediate  presence  of  a 
mountain,  noble  alike  in  form  and  mass.  A  bucket  or 
two  of  water,  whipped  into  a  cloud,  can  obscure,  if  not 
efface,  that  lordly  peak.  You  would  almost  say  that 
no  peak  could  be  there.  But  the  cloud  passes  away, 
and  the  mountain,  in  its  solid  grandeur,  remains. 
Thus,  when  all  temporary  dust  is  laid,  will  stand  out, 
erect  and  clear,  the  massive  figure  of  Carlyle. 

It  now  becomes  my  duty  to  unveil  and  present  to 
the  British  public,  and  to  the  strangers  within  our  gates 
who  can  appreciate  greatness,  the  statue  of  a  great  man. 
Might  I  append  to  these  brief  remarks  the  expression  of 
a  wish,  personal  perhaps  in  its  warmth,  but  more  than 
personal  in  its  aim,  that  somewhere  upon  this  Thames 
Embankment  could  be  raised  a  companion  memorial 
to  a  man  who  loved  our  hero,  and  was  by  him  beloved 
to  the  end  ?  I  refer  to  the  loftiest,  purest,  and  most 
penetrating  spirit  that  has  ever  shone  in  American 
lit  ^rature — to  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  the  life-long  friend 
of  Thomas  Carlyle, 


898  ON  THE  ORIGIN,  PROPAGATION, 


1801. 

ON  THE  ORIGIN, 
PROPAGATION,  AND  PREVENTION  OF  PHTHISIS. 

IT  is  now  a  little  over  nine  years  since  I  received  here, 
at  Hind  Head,  a  memoir  by  Professor  Koch  on  the 
*  Etiology  of  Tuberculosis.'  Taking  it  in  all  its  bear- 
ings, the  memoir  seemed  to  me  of  extraordinary  interest 
and  importance,  not  only  to  the  medical  men  of  Eng- 
land, but  to  the  community  at  large.  I  therefore  drew 
up  and  sent  an  account  of  it  to  the  Times.  The  dis- 
covery of  the  tubercle  bacillus  was  therein  announced 
for  the  first  time,  and  by  experiments  of  the  most  defi- 
nite and  varied  character  the  propagation  and  action  of 
this  terrible  organism  were  demonstrated. 

With  regard  to  his  recent  labours,  Professor  Koch 
may  or  may  not  have  been  hasty  in  the  publication  of 
his  remedies  for  consumption.  On  this  point  it  would 
be  out  of  place,  on  my  part,  to  say  a  word.  But  the  in- 
vestigations which  first  rendered  his  name  famous,  and 

O  * 

which,  I  believe,  were  introduced  to  the  English  pub- 
lic by  myself,  are  irrefragable.  His  renowned  inquiry 
on  anthrax  caused  him  to  be  transferred  from  a  modest 
position  near  Breslau,  to  the  directorship  of  the  Im- 
jerial  Sanitary  Institute  of  Berlin,  where  he  was  soon 
surrounded  by  aide  colleagues  and  assistants.  Con- 
spicuous among  these  was  Dr.  Georg  Cornet,  whose 
labours  on  the  diffusion  of  tuberculosis  constitute  the 
subject  of  this  article. 


AND  PREVENTION  OF  PHTHISIS.  899 

After  the  investigation  of  Koch,  various  questions 
of  moment  pushed  themselves  imperiously  to  the  front: 
How  is  phthisis  generated  ?  How  is  it  propagated  ? 
What  is  the  part  played  by  the  air  as  the  vehicle  of 
tubercle  bacilli?  How  are  healthy  lungs  to  be  pro- 
tected from  their  ravages  ?  What  value  is  to  be  as- 
signed to  the  hypothesis  of  predisposition  and  hereditary 
transmission  ?  Cornet  describes  the  attempts  made  to 
answer  these  and  other  questions.  The  results  were 
conflicting,  and  when  subjected  to  critical  examination 
they  were  proved,  for  the  most  part,  inadequate  and 
inconclusive.  The  art  of  experiment  is  different  from 
that  of  observation  ;  so  much  so,  that  good  observers 
frequently  prove  but  indifferent  experimenters.  It  was 
his  education  as  an  experimenter  that  gave  Pasteur 
such  immense  advantage  over  Pouchet  in  their  cele- 
brated controversy  on  *  spontaneous  generation  ' ;  and 
it  is  on  the  score  of  experiment  that  the  writers  ex- 
amined by  Cornet  were  found  most  wanting.  One 
evil  result  of  this  conflict  of  opinions  as  to  the  propa- 
gation and  prevention  of  phthisis,  was  the  unwarrant- 
able indifference  which  it  generated  among  medical 
men. 

The  researches  referred  to  and  criticised  by  Cornet 
are  too  voluminous  to  be  mentioned  in  detail.  Valuable 
information  was,  to  some  extent,  yielded  by  these  re- 
searches, but  they  nevertheless  left  the  subject  in  a 
state  of  vagueness  and  uncertainty.  Cornet,  in  fact, 
when  he  began  his  inquiry,  found  himself  confronted 
by  a  practically  untrodden  domain.  He  entered  it  with 
a  full  knowledge  of  the  gravity  of  his  task.  The  result 
of  his  investigation  is  a  memoir.of  140  pages,  the  im- 
portance of  which,  and  the  vast  amount  of  labour  in- 
volved in  it,  can  be  appreciated  by  those  only  who  have 
read  it  and  studied  it  from  beginning  to  end. 


400  ON  THE  ORIGIN,   PROPAGATION, 

That  the  matter  expectorated  by  phthisical  patients 
is  infectious  had  been  placed  by  previous  investigations 
beyond  doubt.  The  principal  question  set  before  him- 
self by  Cornet  had  reference  to  the  part  played  by  the 
air  in  the  propagation  of  lung  disease  : — Is  the  breath 
of  persons  suffering  from  phthisis  charged,  as  assumed 
by  some,  with  bacilli  ?  or  is  it,  as  assumed  by  others, 
free  from  the  organism?  The  drawing  of  the  air 
through  media  able  to  intercept  its  floating  particles, 
and  the  examination  of  the  media  afterwards,  might,  at 
first  sight,  appear  the  most  simple  way  of  answering 
this  question.  But  to  examine  a  thousand  litres  of  air 
would  require  a  considerable  time,  and  this  is  only  one- 
twelfth  of  the  volume  which  a  man  breathing  quietly 
expires  every  day.  If  the  air  were  only  sparingly 
charged  with  bacilli,  the  amount  necessary  for  a 
thorough  examination  might  prove  overwhelming. 
Instead  of  the  air,  therefore,  Cornet  chose  for  examina- 
tion the  precipitate  from  the  air ;  that  is  to  say,  the 
dust  of  the  sick-room,  which  must  contain  the  bacilli 
in  greater  numbers  than  the  air  itself. 

He  chose  for  his  field  of  operations  seven  distinct 
hospitals  (Krankenhauser),  three  lunatic  asylums  (Ir- 
renanstalten),  fifty-three  private  houses,  and  various 
other  localities,  including  private  asylums,  lecture- 
rooms,  surgical  wards,  public  buildings,  and  the  open 
street.  The  smallness  of  the  bacilli  has  given  currency 
to  erroneous  notions  regarding  their  power  of  floating 
in  the  air.  The  bacilli  are  not  only  living  bodies,  but 
heavy  bodies,  which  sink  in  water  and  pus,  and  fall 
more  rapidly  in  calm  air.  Cornet  gathered  his  dust 
from  places  inaccessible  to  the  sputum  issuing  directly 
from  the  coughing  patient.  He  rubbed  it  off  high- 
hung  pictures,  clock-cases,  the  boards  and  rails  at  the 
back  of  the  patient's  bed,  and  also  off  the  walls  behind 


AND  PEEVENTION  OF  PHTHISIS.  401 

it.  The  enormous  care  necessary  in  such  experiments, 
aud,  indeed,  in  the  use  of  instruments  generally,  has 
not  yet,  I  fear,  been  universally  realised  by  medical 
men.  With  a  care  worthy  of  imitation,  Cornet  steri- 
lised the  instruments  with  which  his  dust  was  collected, 
and  also  the  vessels  in  which  it  was  placed. 

The  cultivation  of  the  tubercle  bacilli  directly  from 
the  dust  proved  impracticable.  Their  extraordinary 
slowness  of  development  enabled  other  organisms — 
weeds  of  the  pathogenic  garden — which  were  always 
present,  to  overpower  and  practically  stifle  them. 
Cornet,  therefore,  resorted  to  the  infection  of  guinea- 
pigs  with  his  dust.  If  tuberculosis  followed  from  such 
inoculation,  a  proof  of  virulence  would  be  obtained 
which  the  microscope  could  never  furnish.  The  dust, 
after  being  intimately  mixed  with  a  suitable  liquid, 
was  injected  into  the  abdomen  of  the  guinea-pig.  For 
every  sample  of  dust,  two,  three,  four,  or  more  animals 
were  employed.  In  numerous  cases  the  infected  animal 
died  a  day  or  two  after  inoculation.  Such  rapid  deaths, 
however,  were  not  due  to  the  tubercle  bacillus,  which, 
as  already  stated,  is  extremely  slow  of  development,  but 
to  organisms  which  set  up  peritonitis  and  other  fatal 
disorders.  Usually,  however,  some  of  the  group  of 
guinea-pigs  escaped  this  quick  mortality,  and,  to  per- 
mit of  the  development  of  the  bacilli,  they  were  allowed 
to  live  on  thirty,  forty,  or  fifty  days.  The  survivors 
were  then  killed  and  examined.  In  som°i  cases  the 
animals  were  found  charged  with  tubercle  bacilli,  the 
virulence  of  the  inoculated  matter  being  thus  esta- 
blished. In  other  cases  the  organs  of  the  guinea-pigs 
were  found  healthy,  thus  proving  the  harmlessness  of 
the  dust. 

It  must  here  be  borne  in  mind  that  the  bacilli 
mixed  with  Cornet's  dust  must  have  first  floated  in  the 


V  g-,- 


102  OS  THE   ORIGIN,   PROPAGATION, 

air,  and  have  been  deposited  by  it.  Considering  the 
number  of  persons  who  suffer  from  phthisis,  and  the 
billions  of  bacilli  expectorated  by  each  of  them,  it 
would  seem  a  fair  a  priori  deduction  that  wherever 
people  with  their  normal  proportion  of  consumptive 
subjects  aggregate,  the  tubercle  bacillus  must  be  pre- 
sent everywhere.  Hence  the  doctrine  of  '  ubiquity,' 
enunciated  and  defended  by  many  writers  on  this  ques- 
tion. Common  observation  throws  doubt  upon  the 
doctrine,  while  the  experiments  of  Cornet  are  distinctly 
opposed  to  it.  Tested  by  the  dust  deposited  on  their 
furniture  or  rubbed  from  their  walls,  the  wards  of  some 
hospitals  were  found  entirely  free  from  bacilli,  while 
others  were  found  to  be  richly  and  fatally  endowed  with 
the  organism.  Cornet,  it  may  be  remarked,  does  not 
contend  that  his  negative  results  possess  demonstrative 
force.  He  is  quite  ready  to  admit  that,  where  he  failed 
to  find  them,  bacilli  may  have  escaped  him.  But  he 
justly  remarks  that,  until  we  have  discovered  a  bac- 
terium magnet,  capable  of  drawing  every  bacillus  from 
its  hiding-place,  experiment  must  remain  more  or  less 
open  to  this  criticism.  Cornet's  object  is  a  practical 
one.  He  has  to  consider  the  probability,  rather  than 
the  remote  possibility,  of  infection.  The  possibility, 
even  in  places  where  no  bacilli  show  themselves,  may 
be  admitted,  while  the  probability  is  denied.  Such 
places,  Cornet  contends,  are  practically  free  from 
danger. 

In  the  differences  as  to  infectiousness  here  pointed 
out.  we  have  an  illustration  of  wisely-applied  knowledge, 
care,  and  control,  as  contrasted  with  negligence,  or 
ignorance,  on  the  part  of  hospital  authorities.  And 
this  may  be  a  fitting  place  to  refer  to  a  most  impressive 
example  of  what  can  be  accomplished  by  resolute 
supervision  on  the  prut  of  hospital  doctors  and  nursea 


AND  PKEVENTION   OF  PHTHISIS.  403 

A  glance  at  the  state  of  things  existing  some  years  ago 
will  enable  us  to  realise  more  fully  the  ameliorations  of 
to-day.  I  once  had  occasion  to  ask  Professor  Klebs,  of 
Prague,  for  his  opinion  of  the  antiseptic  system  of 
surgery.  He  replied,  'You  in  England  are  not  in  a 
position  to  appreciate  the  magnitude  of  the  advance 
made  by  Lister.  English  surgeons  were  long  ago  led 
to  recognise  the  connection  between  mortality  and  dirt, 
and  they  spared  no  pains  in  rendering  their  wards  as 
clean  as  it  was  possible  to  make  them.  Wards  thus 
purified  showed  a  mortality  almost  as  low  as  other 
wards  in  which  the  antiseptic  system  was  employed. 
The  condition  of  things  in  our  hospitals  is  totally 
different ;  and  it  is  only  amongst  us,  on  the  Continent, 
that  the  vast  amelioration  introduced  by  Lister  can  be 
propeily  apprehended.'  I  may  say  that  Lister  himself 
once  described  hospitals  in  his  own  country  which,  in 
regard  to  uncleanness  and  consequent  mortality,  might 
have  vied  with  those  on  the  Continent.  Klebs's  letter 
was  written  many  years  ago.  .  Later  on  the  authorities 
in  German  hospitals  bestirred  themselves,  with  the 
splendid  result  disclosed  by  Cornet,  that  institutions 
which  were  formerly  the  chief  breeding-grounds  of 
pathogenic  organisms  are  now  raised  to  a  pitch  of  salu- 
brity surpassing  that  of  the  open  street. 

Cornet  thus  grapples  .with  the  grave  question  which 
here  occupies  us.  How,  he  asks,  does  the  tubercle 
bacillus  reach  the  lungs,  and  how  is  it  transported 
thence  into  the  air  ?  Is  it  the  sputum  alone  that  carries 
the  organism,  or  do  the  bacilli  mingle  with  the  breath? 
This  is  the  problem  of  problems,  the  answer  to  which 
will  show  whether  we  are  able  to  protect  ourselves 
against  tuberculosis,  whether  we  can  impose  limits  on 
the  scourge,  or  whether,  with  hands  tied,  we  have  to 
surrender  ourselves  to  its  malignant  sway.  If  the 


404  ON  THE  ORIGIN,  PROPAGATION, 

tubrrcle  bacilli  are  carried  outwards  by  the  breath, 
then  nothing  remains  for  us  but  to  wait  till  an  infected 
puff  of  expired  air  conveys  to  us  our  doom.  A  kind  of 
fatalism,  sometimes  dominant  in  relation  to  this  ques- 
tion, would  thus  have  its  justification.  There  is  no 
inhabited  place  without  its  proportion  of  phthisical 
subjects,  who,  if  the  foregoing  supposition  were  correct, 
would  be  condemned  to  infect  their  neighbours.  Ter- 
rible in  this  case  would  be  the  doom  of  the  sufferer, 
whom  we  should  be  forced  to- avoid,  as,  in  earlier  ages, 
the  plague-stricken  were  avoided.  Terrible,  moreover, 
to  the  invalid  would  be  the  consciousness  that  with 
every  discharge  from  his  lungs  he  was  spreading  death 
among  those  around  him.  '  Such  a  state  of  things,' 
says  Cornet,  '  would  soon  loosen  the  bonds  of  the  family 
and  of  society.'  Happily,  the  facts  of  the  case  are  very 
different  from  those  here  set  forth. 

1 1  would  not,'  says  our  author,  '  go  into  this  sub- 
ject so  fully,  I  would  not  here  repeat  what  is  already 
known,  were  I  not  convinced  that,  in  regard  to  this 
special  point,  the  most  erroneous  notions  are  prevalent, 
not  only  amongst  the  general  public,  but  even  among 
highly-cultivated  medical  men.  Misled  by  such  no- 
tions, precautions  are  adopted  which  are  simply  calcu- 
lated to  defeat  the  end  in  view.  Thus  it  is  that  while 
one  physician  anxiously  guards  against  the  expired 
breath  of  the  phthisical  patient,  another  is  careful  to 
have  his  spittoon  so  covered  up  that  no  bacilli  can 
escape  into  the  air  by  evaporation.  Neither  of  them 
makes  any  inquiry  about  the  really  crucial  point — • 
whether  the  patient  has  deposited  all  his  sputum  in 
the  spittoon,  thus  avoiding  the  possibility  of  the  expec- 
torated matter  becoming  dry,  and  reduced  afterwards  to 
a  powder  capable  of  being  inhaled. 

'While  a  positive  phthisiophobia  appears  to  have 


AND  PEEVENTION  OF  PHTHISIS.  405 

taken  possession  of  some  minds,  others  ignore  almost 
completely  the  possibility  of  infection.  The  fact  that 
investigations  have  been  published  of  late,  with  the 
object  of  discovering  tubercle  bacilli  in  the  breath, 
sufficiently  indicates  that  the  conclusive  researches  of 
earlier  investigators  have  not  received  the  proper 
amount  of  attention. 

*  We  must  regard  it,'  says  Cornet,  '  as  firmly  esta- 
blished that,  under  no  circumstance,  can  the  bacteria 
contained  in  a  liquid,  or  strewn  upon  a  wet  surface,  es- 
cape by  evaporation  or  be  carried  away  by  currents  cf 
air.  By  an  irrefragable  series  of  experiments  Nageli 
has  placed  this  beyond  doubt.' 

The  evidence  that  the  sputum  is  the  real  source  of 
tuberculous  infection  is  conclusive ;  and  here  Cornet 
earnestly  directs  attention  to  the  fact  that  in  the  houses 
of  the  poor  the  patient  commonly  spits  upon  the  floor, 
where  the  sputum  dries  and  is  rubbed  into  infectious 
dust  by  the  feet  of  persons  passing  over  it.  The  danger 
becomes  greatest  when  the  dry  floor  is  swept  by  brush 
or  broom.  There  is  a  still  graver  danger  connected  with 
the  habits  of  well-to-do  people  who  occupy  clean  and 
salubrious  houses.  This  is  the  common  practice  of 
spitting  into  pocket-handkerchiefs.  Here  the  sputum 
is  soon  dried  by  the  warmth  of  the  pocket,  the  subse- 
quent use  of  the  handkerchief  causing  it  to  be  rubbed 
into  virulent  dust.  This  constitutes  a  danger  of  the 
highest  consequence,  both  to  the  individual  using  the 
handkerchief  and  to  persons  in  his  immediate  neigh- 
bourhood. 

It  is  a  primary  doctrine  with  both  Koch  and  Cornet 
that  tuberculosis  arises  from  infection  by  the  tubercle 
bacillus.  Predisposition,  or  hereditary  tendency,  as  a 
cause  of  phthisis,  is  rejected  by  both  of  them.  Facts, 
however,  are  not  wanting  which  suggest  the  notion  of 


106  ON  THE  ORIGIN,  PROPAGATION, 

predisposition.  Cornet  once  attended,  in  a  hotel,  an 
actress  far  advanced  in  phthisis.  A  guest  taking  pos- 
session of  her  room  after  her  death,  or  removal,  might 
undoubtedly  become  infected.  The  antecedents  of  the 
room  being  unknown,  the  case  of  such  a  guest  would, 
in  all  probability,  be  referred  to  predisposition.  It 
might  be  declared,  with  perfect  sincerity,  that  for  years 
be  had  had  no  communication  with  phthisical  persons. 
There  is  very  little  doubt  that  numbers  of  cases  of 
tuberculosis,  which  have  been  referred  to  predisposition 
or  inheritance,  are  to  be  really  accounted  for  by  infec- 
tion in  some  such  obscure  way. 

Cornet  draws  attention  to  hotels  and  lodging-houses 
at,  and  on  the  way  to,  health-resorts.  He  regards  them 
as  sources  of  danger,  and  he  insists  on  the  necessity  of 
disinfecting  the  rooms  and  effects  after  the  death  or 
removal  of  tuberculous  patients.  He  recommends 
physicians,  before  sending  patients  abroad,  or  to  health- 
resorts  at  home,  to  inform  themselves,  by  strict  inquiry, 
regarding  the  precautions  taken  to  avoid  infectious 
diseases,  tuberculosis  among  the  number.  The  atten- 
tion of  those  responsible  for  the  sanitary  arrangements 
in  the  health-resorts  of  England  may  be  invited  to  the 
following  observation  of  Cornet: — 'On  a  promenade, 
amidst  a  hundred  phthisical  persons  who  are  careful  to 
expectorate  into  spittoons,  tlie  visitor  is  far  safer  than 
among  a  hundred  men,  taken  at  random,  and  embracing 
only  the  usual  proportion  of  phthisical  persons  who 
spit  upon  the  ground.' 

With  regard  to  the  permanence  of  the  tubercle  con- 
tagium,  the  following  facts  are  illustrative.  A  woman, 
who  had  for  two  years  suffered  from  a  phthisical  cough, 
and  who  had  been  in  the  habit  of  spitting  first  upon 
the  ground,  and  afterwards  into  a  glass  or  a  pocket- 


AND  PREVENTION  OF  PITTIIISIS.  407 

handkerchief,  was  visited  by  Cornet.  During  her  life- 
time he  proved  the  dust  of  her  room  to  be  infectious. 
Sis  weeks  after  her  death  he  again  visited  the  dwelling. 
Rubbing  the  dust  from  a  square  meter  of  the  wall  on 
which  he  had  formerly  found  his  infectious  matter,  and 
which  had  not  been  cleansed  after  the  woman's  death, 
h«  inoculated  with  it  three  of  his  guinea-pigs.  Ex- 
amined forty  days  after  the  inoculation,  two  of  the 
three  were  found  tuberculous.  Cornet  reasons  thus  : — 
'No  doubt  the  dust  which  had  thus  proved  its  virulence 
would  have  retained  it  for  a  longer  time.  Schili  and 
Fischer,  indeed,  have  proved  that,  after  six  months' 
preservation,  dried  sputum  may  retain  its  virulence. 
During  this  period,  therefore,  the  possibility  of  infection 
by  this  dust  is  obviously  open.  When,  moreover,  the 
quantity  of  infectious  matter  inhaled  is  very  small,  a 
considerable  time  elapses  before  the  development  of  the 
bacilli  renders  the  malady  distinct.  Even  if  a  year 
should  elapse  after  the  death  of  a  phthisical  patient 
before  another  member  of  the  same  household  shows 
symptoms  of  lung  disease,  we  are  not  entitled  to  assume 
a  hereditary  tendency  without  further  proof.  Aware  of 
the  facts  above  mentioned,  we  ought  rather  to  ascribe 
the  disease  to  infection  by  the  dwelling,  not  to  mention 
its  possible  derivation  from,  other  sources.' 

On  January  14,  1888,  Cornet  visited  a  patient  who, 
for  three-quarters  of  a  year,  had  suffered  from  tuber- 
culosis of  the  lung  and  larynx.  The  dust  of  the  room 
occupied  by  this  man  was  proved  to  contain  virulent 
infective  matter.  A  brother  of  the  patient  who,  at  the 
time  of  the  examination  of  the  dwelling,  was  alleged  to 
be  in  perfect  health,  exhibited  phthisis  of  the  larynx 
four  months  afterwards.  '  We  are  surely,'  says  Cornet, 
'  warranted  in  ascribing  this  result,  not  to  heredity,  or 
any  other  hypothetical  cause,  but  to  the  naked  fact  that 


408  ON  THE  ORIGIN,  PROPAGATION, 

the  dust  of  this  dwelling  contained  tubercle  bacilli 
which  were  capable  of  infecting  the  lungs  and  larynx 
of  a  man,  as  they  did  the  peritoneum  of  a  guinea- 

Pig-' 

On  December  31,  1887,  Cornet  visited  a  man  who 

for  two  years  had  suffered  from  phthisis.  He  lived  in 
the  same  room  with  two  brothers  who  were  very  ro- 
bust, one  of  whom,  however,  had  begun  to  cough, 
though  without  any  further  evidence  of  serious  disorder. 
The  patient  had  been  at  home  for  eight  days,  while 
previously  he  had  acted  as  foreman  in  a  tailoring  esta- 
blishment. It  was  proved,  to  a  certainty,  that  this 
patient  had  taken  the  place  of  a  colleague  who  had  died 
from  phthisis  of  tbe  throat,  and  who  had  been  in  the 
habit  of  expectorating  copiously  upon  the  floor.  In  the 
workroom,  moreover,  the  present  sufferer  had  occupied 
a  place  next  to  the  man  who  died.  Cornet  called  upon 
the  proprietor  of  the  establishment,  who  allowed  him 
every  opportunity  of  examining  the  room,  in  which 
eight  or  ten  workmen  were  engaged.  With  dust  rubbed 
from  about  two  square  meters  of  the  wall,  near  the  spot 
whe  'e  the  patient  now  works,  Cornet  infected  guinea- 
pigs  and  produced  tuberculosis.  He  ridicules  the  notion 
of  ascribing  this  man's  malady  to  any  hereditary  endow- 
ment or  predisposition,  derived,  say,  from  a  phthisical 
mother,  which,  after  sleeping  for  twenty  years,  woke  up 
to  action  at  the  precise  time  when  he  was  surrounded 
by  infective  matter.  Our  author  regards  this,  and 
other  similar  cases  which  he  adduces,  as  of  special  in- 
terest. The  tuberculous  virus  was  here  found  in  rooms 
containing  several  workmen,  who  had  thus  an  opportu- 
nity of  infecting  each  other.  The  infection,  moreover, 
occurred  among  tailors,  who  are  known  to  be  special 
sufferers  from  phthisis. 

The  general  belief  sometime  ago,  which,  to  some 


AND  PREVENTION  OF  PHTHISIS.  409 

extent,  may  hold  its  ground  to  the  present  hour,  was 
that  this  wasting  malady  arose  from  some  peculiarity 
in  the  individual  constitution,  independent  of  infection 
from  without.  Enormous  mischief  has  been  done 
through  exaggerated  and  incorrect  notions  regarding 
the  influence  of  predisposition  and  inheritance.  Mem- 
bers of  the  same  family  were  observed  to  fall  victims  to 
this  scourge,  but  each  was  regarded  as  an  independent 
source  of  the  disease,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  thought 
that  the  one  had  infected  the  other.  Two  or  three  days 
ago  an  old  man  here  at  Hind  Head  told  me  that  he 
had  lost  three  children  in  succession  through  phthisis ; 
and  he  mentioned  another  case  where  five  or  six  robust 
brothers  had  fallen,  successively,  victims  to  the  same  dis- 
ease. '  I  am  sure,'  said  the  man,  with  a  flash  of  intelli- 
gence across  his  usually  imintelligent  countenance,  '  it 
must  be  catching?  Cornet  describes  some  cases  which 
irresistibly  suggest  family  infection.  In  1887  he  visited 
a  patient,  the  father  of  a  family,  who,  six  years  previously, 
had  lost  by  consumption  a  little  girl  fourteen  years  old. 
A  year  and  a  half  afterwards  a  daughter  of  the  same 
man,  twenty-one  years  old,  fell  a  victim  to  the  disease. 
One  or  two  years  later  a  robust  son  succumbed,  while,  a 
fortnight  before  Cornet's  visit,  a  child  a  year  and  a  half 
old  had  been  carried  away.  Without  doing  violence  to 
the  evidence,  as  Cornet  remarks,  these  cases  may  be 
justly  regarded  as  due  to  family  infection.  For  many 
years  the  father  had  suffered  from  a  phthisical  cough, 
and  directly  or  indirectly  he,  in  all  probability,  infected 
his  children. 

In  connection  with  this  subject,  I  maybe  permitted 
to  relate  a  sad  experience  of  my  own.  It  is  an  easy 
excursion  from  my  cottage  in  the  Alps  to  the  remark- 
able promontory  called  '  The  Nessel,'  on  which  stands  a 
cluster  of  huts,  occupied  by  peasants  during  the  sum- 


410  ON  THE   ORIGIN,    PROPAGATION, 

mer  months.  On  visiting  The  Nessel  three  years  ago, 
I  was  requested  to  look  into  a  hut  occupied  by  a  inau 
suffering  from  a  racking  cough,  accompanied  by  copious 
expectoration.  I  did  so.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  the 
poor  fellow  was  the  victim  of  advanced  lung  disease. 
In  the  same  hut  lived  his  daughter,  who,  when  I  first 
saw  her,  presented  the  appearance  of  blooming  health 
and  vigour.  Acquainted  as  I  was  with  Koch's  dis- 
coveries, I  remarked  to  a  friend  who  accompanied  me, 
that  the  girl  lived  in  the  midst  of  peril.  We  had  here 
the  precise  conditions  notified  by  Cornet :  spitting  on 
the  floor,  drying  of  the  sputum,  and  the  subsequent 
treading  of  the  infectious  matter  into  dust.  Whenever 
the  hut  was  swept,  this  dust  mingled  freely  with  the 
air,  and  was  of  course  inhaled. 

I  warned  the  girl  against  the  danger  to  which  she 
was  exposed.  But  it  is  sometimes  difficult  to  make 
even  cultivated  people  comprehend  the  magnitude  of 
this  danger,  or  take  the  necessary  precautions.  A  year 
afterwards  I  visited  the  same  hut.  The  father  was 
standing  in  the  midst  of  the  room — a  well-built  man, 
nearly  six  feet  high,  and  as  straight  as  an  arrow.  He 
was  wheezing  heavily,  bsiog  at  intervals  bowed  down 
by  the  violence  of  his  cough.  On  a  stool  in  the  same 
room  sat  his  daughter,  who,  a  year  previously,  had  pre- 
sented such  a  picture  of  Alpine  strength  and  beauty. 
Her  appearance  shocked  me.  The  light  had  gone  out 
of  her  eyes,  while  the  pallor  of  her  face  and  her  panting 
breath  showed  only  too  plainly  that  she  also  had  been 
grasped  by  the  destroyer.  There  are  thousands  at  thia 
moment  in  England  in  the  position  I  then  occupied — 
•standing  helpless  in  the  presence  of  a  calamity  that 
might  have  been  avoided.  All  that  could  be  done  w;is 
to  send  the  sufferers  wine  and  such  little  delicacies  as  I 
eould  command.  Last  summer  I  learned  that  both 


AND   PREVENTION   OF  PHTHISIS.  411 

father  and  daughter  were  dead,  the  daughter  having 
been  the  first  to  succumb. 

In  opposition  to  those  who  consider  that  they  have 
found  bacilli  in  the  breath  of  phthisical  patients,  Cornet 
adduces  a  number  of  very  definite  results.  Patients 
have  been  caused  to  breathe  against  plates  of  glass 
coated  with  glycerine,  which  would  undoubtedly  have 
held  the  bacilli  fast.  Water  has  been  examined,  through 
which  the  air  expired  by  phthisical  lungs  had  been 
caused  to  pass.  In  this  case  the  bacilli,  being  moist, 
would  have  been  infallibly  intercepted  by  the  water. 
The  aqueous  vapour  exhaled  by  consumptive  lungs  has 
been  carefully  condensed  by  ice ;  but  no  bacilli  has,  in 
any  of  these  cases,  been  detected.  It  behoves  those 
who  have  arrived  at  an  opposite  result  to  repeat  their 
experiments  with  the  most  scrupulous  care,  so  that  no 
doubt  should  be  suffered  to  rest  upon  a  point  of  such 
supreme  importance.  The  lungs,  air-passages,  throat, 
and  mouth  all  present  wet  surfaces,  and  it  has  been 
proved  that  even  with  sputum  rich  in  bacilli,  over 
which  a  current  of  air  of  considerable  force  had  been 
driven,  the  air  was  found  perfectly  free  from  the 
organism. 

The  immunity  as  regards  infection  which  to  so 
great  an  extent  is  observed,  is  ascribed  by  Cornet  in 
part  to  the  intensely  viscous  character  of  the  sputum 
when  wet.  Even  after  it  has  been  subjected  to  a  dry- 
ing process  its  complete  desiccation  is  opposed  by  its 
hygroscopic  character.  Cornet  calls  other  investigators 
to  bear  him  witness  that  the  task  of  reducing  well-dried 
sputum  to  a  fine  powder,  even  in  a  mortar,  is  by  no 
means  an  easy  one.  It  is  difficult  to  produce,  in  this 
way,  a  dust  fine  enough  to  remain  suspended  in  the  air. 
It  would  be  an  error  to  suppose  that  dry  tuberculous 
phlegm,  when  trodden  upon  in  the  streets,  sends  a  cloud 
27 


412  ON  TIIE  OHIGIN,   PEOPAGATIOlt, 

of  infected  dust  upwards.  Its  hygroscopic  qualities  in 
great  part  prevent  this.  When  dried  sputum  is  re- 
duced to  powder  in  a  humid  place,  it  attracts  to  ib-elf 
moisture,  and  collects  into  little  balls.  The  streets  iu 
which  phthisical  persons  expectorate  are  rendered  in- 
nocuous by  rain,  or  by  the  artificial  watering  common 
in  towns.  Cornet  regards  this  watering  as  an  enormous 
sanitary  advantage.  No  doubt  when  dry  east  winds 
prevail  for  a  sufficient  time,  infectious  dust  will  mingle 
with  the  air.  During  easterly  winds  infectious  diseases 
are  known  to  be  particularly  prevalent.  Our  sufferings 
from  influenza  during  the  present  year  have  been  con- 
nected in  my  mind  with  the  long-continued  ea&terly 
and  north-easterly  winds,  which,  sweeping  over  vast 
areas  of  dry  land,  brought  with  them  the  contagium  that 
produced  the  malady.  Besides  the  difficulty  encountered 
before  the  sputum  reaches  the  state  of  very  fine  powder, 
other  difficulties  are  presented  by  the  numberless  angles 
and  obstacles  of  the  respiratory  tract,  and  by  the 
integrity  of  the  ciliary-epithelium,  to  the  more  or  less 
vigorous  action  of  which  is  due  the  fact  that  amid 
thousands  of  opportunities  we  have  only  here  and  there 
a  case  of  infection. 

The  action  of  the  tubercle  bacillus  is  determined  by 
the  state  of  the  surface  with  which  it  comes  into  con- 
tact. Wounds  or  lesions,  caused  by  previous  diseases, 
such  as  measles,  whooping  cough,  and  scarlatina,  may 
exist  along  the  respiratory  canal.  By  illness,  moreover, 
the  epithelium  may  be  impaired,  the  inhaled  bacilli 
being  thus  offered  a  convenient  domicile.  If  it  be 
thought  desirable  to  call  -such  a  state  of  things  *  pre- 
disposition,' Cornet  will  raise  no  objection.  Wherever 
a  wounded  or  decaying  tissue  exists  the  bacillus  will 
find,  unopposed,  sufficient  nutriment  to  enable  it  to  in- 
crease in  number,  and  to  augment  in  vigour,  before  it 


AND  PREVENTION  OF  PHTHISIS.  418 

comes  into  contact,  and  conflict,  with  the  living  cells 
underneath.  It  is  not  any  such  predisposition,  but  pre- 
disposition by  inheritance  as  a  source  of  phthisis  that  is 
contended  against  by  Cornet.  That  Koch  entertained  a 
different  opinion  is  declared  to  be  absolutely  erroneous. 
The  admission  that  a  disease  may  be  favoured,  or  pro- 
moted, by  this  or  that  circumstance  is  not  tantamount 
to  the  assertion  that  in  all,  or  nearly  all  cases,  this  cir- 
cumstance is  the  cause,  concomitant,  or  necessary  pre- 
cursor of  the  disease.  This  is  the  view  generally  enter- 
tained regarding  'predisposition.' 

Cornet's  further  reasoning  on  this  subject  reveals 
his  views  so  clearly  that  I  will  endeavour,  in  substance, 
to  reproduce  it  here.  Let  a  box  be  imagined  filled  with 
finely-divided  bacillus  dust,  and  let  a  certain  number 
of  guinea-pigs  be  caused,  for  a  very  short  time,  to  inhale 
this  dust.  A  few  of  them  will  be  infected,  while  the 
great  majority  will  escape.  If  the  inhalation  be  pro- 
longed, the  number  of  animals  infected  will  increase, 
until  at  length  only  one  or  two  remain.  With  an  ex- 
posure still  more  prolonged  the  surviving  ones  would 
undoubtedly  succumb.  Why,  then,  in  the  first  instance, 
does  one  animal  contract  tuberculosis  and  another  not? 
Have  they  not  all  inhaled  the  same  air,  under  the  same 
conditions  ?  Are  the  animals  that  have  escaped  the 
first  contagion  less  '  disposed '  than  the  survivors  to  the 
disease?  Assuming  the  animals  to  be  all  perfectly 
healthy,  such  differences  will  be  observed.  But,  sup- 
posing them  to  be  weakened  in  different  degrees  by 
previous  disorders,  the  differences  revealed  in  the  case 
of  healthy  animals  would  be  more  pronounced.  This, 
with  human  beings,  is  the  normal  state  of  things. 

Take  the  case  of  a  veteran  who  has  been  to  the 
front  in  fifty  different  battles,  who,  right  and  left  of  him, 
lias  seen  his  comrades  fall,  until  haply  he  remains  the 


414  ON  THE   ORIGIN,   PROPAGATION, 

sole  survivor  of  his  regiment,  without  scratch  or  contu- 
sion. Shall  we  call  him  bullet-proof  ?  Will  his  safety 
be  ascribed  to  an  absence  of  '  predisposition '  to  attract 
the  bullets — thus  enjoying  an  immunity  which  the 
superstition  of  former  ages  would  have  ascribed  to  him  ? 
Is  he  more  bullet-proof  or  less  vulnerable  than  the  com- 
rade who  by  the  first  volley  in  the  first  battle  was  shot 
down  ?  *  How  often,'  says  Cornet,  *  do  such  cases  repeat 
themself  in  life  ?  and  are  we  able  to  do  more  than  de- 
scribe them  as  accidents?  Unscientific  as  this  word 
may  appear,  it  is  more  in  harmony  with  the  truth  than 
any  artificial  hypothesis.' 

The  opportunities  for  incorrect  reasoning  in  regard 
to  phthisis  are  manifold.  It  is  observed,  for  example, 
that  a  hospital  attendant,  who  has  had  for  years,  even 
for  decades,  consumptive  patients  in  his  charge,  has, 
nevertheless^  escaped  infection.  The  popular  conclu- 
sion finds  vent  in  the  words,  '  It  cannot  be  so  danger- 
ous after  all ! '  Here,  however,  attention  is  fixed  on  a 
single  fortunate  individual,  while  the  hundreds  who, 
during  the  same  time,  have  succumbed  are  forgotten. 
The  danger  of  infection  in  different  hospitals  is  a 
variable  danger.  In  some  we  find  bacilli,  while  .in 
others  we  do  not  find  them.  It  is  no  wonder,  then, 
that  among  attendants  who  are  thus  exposed  to  differ- 
ent degiees  of  danger,  some  should  be  infected  and 
others  not.  When,  in  cases  of  diphtheria,  typhus, 
cholera,  small-pox,  which  are  undeniably  infectious 
diseases,  an  attendant  escapes  infection,  we  do  not 
exclaim,  *  They  are  not  so  dangerous  after  all !'  But 
this  is  the  favourite  expression  ^\hen  pulmonary  con- 
sumption is  in  question.  '  When,'  adds  Cornet,  with  a 
dash  of  indignation,  '  we  observe  the  enormous  increase 
of  phthisis  among  the  natives  of  Mentone,  and  find  this 
ascribed  to  the  abandonment  of  laud  labour,  instead  of  to 


AND  PREVENTION  OF  PHTHISIS. 

intercommunication  with  the  consumptive  patients  who 
spend  their  winter  at  that  health-resort,  it  would  seem 
as  if  some  people  shut  their  eyes  wilfully  against  the 
truth.' 

Again  and  again  our  author  insists  on  the  necessity 
of  the  most  searching  oversight  on  the  part  of  physi- 
cians who  have  consumptive  patients  in  charge.  '  I 
cannot,'  he  says,  'accept  as  valid  the  assertion  that  in 
well-ordered  hospitals  provision  is  invariably  made  for 
expectoration  into  proper  vessels,  the  conversion  of  the 
sputum  into  infectious  dust  being  thereby  rendered  im- 
possible. Take  a  case  in  point.  One  of  the  physicians 
to  whose  kindness  I  owe  the  possibility  of  carrying  on 
my  investigation,  assured  me  in  the  most  positive 
manner  that  the  patients  in  his  hospital  invariably  used 
spittoons.  A  few  minutes  after  this  assurance  had  been 
given,  and  under  the  eyes  of  the  director  himself,  I  drew 
from  the  bed  of  a  patient  a  pocket-handkerchief  filled 
with  half-dried  phlegm.  I  rubbed  from  the  wall  of  the 
room,  at  a  distance  of  half  a  meter  from  the  bed  of  this 
patient,  a  quantity  of  dust,  with  which,  as  I  predicted, 
tuberculosis  was  produced.  If,  therefore,  physicians, 
attendants,  and  patients  do  not  work  in  unison,  if  the 
patient  and  his  attendants  be  not  accurately  instructed 
and  strictly  controlled,  the  presence  of  the  spittoon  will 
not  diminish  the  danger.' 

In  the  dwellings  of  private  patients  the  perils  here 
glanced  at  were  most  impressively  brought  home  to 
the  inquirer.  In  fifteen  out  of  twenty-one  sick-rooms, 
that  is  to  say,  in  more  than  two-thirds  of  them,  Cornet 
found  in  the  dust  of  the  walls  and  bed-furniture  virulent 
tubercle  bacilli.  He  refers  to  his  published  tables  to 
prove  that  in  no  ward  or  room  where  the  organism  was 
found  did  the  patients  confine  themselves  to  expectora- 
tion into  spittoons,  but  were  in  the  habit  of  spitting 


416  ON  THE  OKIGIN,   PKOPAGATION, 

either  upon  the  floors  or  into  pocket-handkerchiefs.  In 
no  single  case,  on  the  other  hand,  where  spitting  on  the 
floor  or  into  pocket-handkerchiefs  was  strictly  and 
effectually  prohihited,  did  he  find  himself  able  to  pro- 
duce tuberculosis  from  the  collected  dust. 

A  point  of  considerable  importance,  more  specially 
dealt  wiih  by  Cornet  in  a  further  investigation,  has 
reference  to  the  allegation  that  physicians  who  attend 
tuberculous  patients  do  not  show  among  themselves 
the  frightful  mortality  from  phthisis  that  might  be 
expected.  This  is  often  adduced  as  proof  of  the  com- 
parative harmlessness  of  the  tubercle  bacillus.  No  in- 
vestigation, however,  has  proved  that  the  mortality 
among  physicians  by  phthisis  does  not  far  exceed  the 
average.  And  even  should  this  mortality  show  no  great 
preponderance,  it  is  to  be  borne  in  mind  that  the 
number  of  physicians  who,  thanks  to  their  education, 
are  able  to  discern  the  first  approaches  of  the  malady, 
and  to  master  it  in  time,  is  by  no  means  inconsiderable. 
In  the  health- resoits  of  Germany,  Italy,  France,  and 
Africa,  we  find  numbers  of  physicians  who  have  been 
compelled,  by  their  own  condition,  to  establish  their 
practice  in  such  places. 

The  memorable  paper  of  which  I  have  here  given  a 
concentrated  abstract  concludes  with  a  chapter  on 
'  Preventive  Measures,'  which  are  assuredly  worthy  of 
£rave  attention  on  the  part  of  Governments,  of  hospital 
authorities,  and  of  the  public  at  large.  The  character 
of  these  measures  may  be,  in  great  part,  gathered  from 
the  foregoing  pages.  It  is  more  than  once  enunciated 
in  Cornet's  memoir  that  the  first  and  greatest  danger 
to  which  the  phthisical  patient  is  exposed  is  himself. 
If  he  is  careless  in  the  disposal  of  his  phlegm,  if  he 
Buffers  it  to  become  dry  and  converted  into  dust,  then, 


AND  PEEVENTION  OF  PHTHISIS.  417 

by  the  inhalation  of  a  contagium  derived  from  the 
diseased  portions  of  his  own  lung,  he  may  infect  the 
healthy  portions.  4If,  therefore,'  says  Cornet,  'the 
phthisical  patient,  to  avoid  the  guilt  of  self-murder,  is 
compelled  to  exercise  the  utmost  caution,  he  is  equally 
bound  to  do  so  for  the  sake  of  his  family,  his  children, 
and  his  servants  and  attendants.  He  must  bestow  the 
most  anxious  care  upon  the  disposal  of  his  sputum. 
Within  doors  he  must  never,  under  any  circumstances, 
spit  upon  the  floor,  or  employ  his  pocket-handkerchief 
to  receive  his  phlegm,  but  always  and  everywhere  must 
use  a  proper  spittoon.  If  he  is  absolutely  faithful  in 
the  carrying  out  of  these  precautions,  he  may  accept 
the  tranquillising  assurance  that  he  will  neither  injure 
himself  nor  prove  a  source  of  peril  to  those  around 
him.' 

Though  mindful  of  the  danger  of  interfering  with 
social  arrangements,  Cornet  follows  out  his  preventive 
measures  in  considerable  detail.  Hand-spittoons,  with  a 
cover,  he  recommends,  not  with  the  view  of  preventing 
evaporation,  but  because  flies  have  been  known  to  carry 
infection  from  open  vessels.  Without  condemning  the 
practice,  he  does  not  favour  the  disinfection  of  sputum 
by  carbolic  acid  and  other  chemicals.  He  deprecates 
the  use  of  sand  or  sawdust  in  spittoons.  On  aesthetic 
grounds,  he  would  have  the  spittoons  of  those  who  can 
afford  it  made  ornamental,  but  earthenware  saucers, 
such  as  those  placed  under  flower-pots,  are  recommended 
for  the  use  of  the  poor.  The  consumptive  patient  must 
take  care  that  not  only  in  his  own  house,  but  also  in 
the  offices  and  workshops  where  he  may  be  engaged,  he 
is  supplied  with  a  proper  spittoon.  In  public  buildings, 
as  in  private  houses,  the  corridors  and  staircases  ought 
to  be  well  supplied  with  these  necessaries.  The  ascent 
of  the  stairs  often  provokes  coughing  and  expectoration, 


418  ON  THE  ORIGIN,  PROPAGATION, 

and  the  means  of  disposing  of  phlegm  ought  to  be  at 
hand.  The  directors  of  factories,  and  the  masters  o( 
workshops,  as  well  as  the  workmen  themselves,  ought 
to  make  sure  that,  under  no  circumstances,  shall 
spitting  on  the  floor  or  into  a  pocket-handkerchief  le 
tolerated. 

One  final  word  is  still  to  be  spoken.  If  we  are  to 
fight  this  enemy  with  success,  the  public  must  make 
common  cause  with  the  physician.  The  fear  of  spread- 
ing panic  among  the  community,  and  more  particularly 
among  hospital  nurses,  must  be  dismissed.  Unless 
nurses,  patients,  and  public,  realise  with  clear  intelli- 
gence the  dangers  to  which  they  are  exposed,  they  will 
not  resort  to  the  measures  necessary  for  their  protection. 
Should  the  sources  of  infection  be  only  partially  re- 
moved, the  marked  diminution  of  a  malady,  which  now 
destroys  more  human  beings  than  all  other  infective 
diseases  taken  together,  will,  as  pointed  out  by  Cornet, 
be  '  our  exceeding  great  reward.' 


Dr.  Cornet's  great  investigation,  of  which  some  ac- 
count is  given  above,  is  entitled,  '  The  Diffusion  of 
Tubercle  Bacilli  exterior  to  the  Body.'  It  was  published 
in  1888.  A  shorter,  though  not  less  important  inquiry, 
on  '  The  Mortality  of  the  Nursing  Orders,'  was  published 
in  1 889.  These  two  memoirs  will  be  found  permanently 
embodied  in  the  fifth  and  sixth  volumes  of  the  Zeit- 
hchrift  fur  Hygiene.  From  a  former  paragraph  it  will 
be  seen  that  Cornet's  attention  had  been  directed  to 
those  who,  more  than  others,  come  closely  into  contact 
with  infectious  diseases,  and  that  he  throws  doubt  upon 
the  notion  that  neither  physicians  nor  nurses  suffer  from 
this  proximity.  No  definite  and  thorough  inquiry  had, 
however,  Icon  made  into  this  grave  question.  In  tar« 


AND  PREVENTION  OF  PHTHISIS.  419 

of  the  vague  and  contradictory  statements  which  issued 
from  the  authorities  of  different  hospitals,  the  problem 
cried  aloud  for  solution.  For  aid  and  data,  under  these 
circumstances,  Cornet  resorted  to  Herr  von  Gossler,  the 
Prussian  Minister  of  State,  who,  at  that  time,  had 
medical  matters  under  his  control.  From  him  lie  re- 
ceived the  most  hearty  furtherance  and  encouragement. 
Dr.  von  Gossler  has  recently  resigned  his  post  in  the 
Prussian  Ministry,  but  his  readiness  to  forward  the 
momentous  inquiry  on  which  Cornet  was  engaged 
merits  the  grateful  recognition  of  the  public  and  the 
praise  of  scientific  men. 

The  number  of  female  nurses  in  Prussia,  as  shown 
by  the  statistics  of  the  Royal  Bureau  of  Berlin  for  1885, 
was  11,048.  Of  these,  the  Catholic  Sisters  of  Mercy 
numbered  5,470,  or  49'51  percent.;  Evangelical  nurses, 
2,496,  or  22'59  per  cent. ;  nurses  belonging  to  other 
societies  and  associations,  352,  or  3*19  per  cent.;  while 
of  unclassified  nurses  there  were  2,730,  or  24*71  per 
cent,  of  the  whole.  The  male  attendants,  at  the  same 
time,  numbered  3,162.  Of  these,  383  were  Brothers  of 
Mercy,  205  were  deacons,  while  of  unclassified  attendants 
there  were  2,574. 

The  sifting  of  these  numbers  was  a  labour  of  anxious 
care  to  Dr.  Cornet.  It  had  already  been  remarked  by 
Guttstadt  that  the  commercial  attractions  of  hospital 
service  were  insufficient,  without  the  help  of  some  ideal 
motive,  to  secure  a  permanent  staff.  This  motive  was 
found  in  devotion  through  a  sense  of  religious  duty  to 
the  service  of  the  sick.  The  sifting  of  his  material 
made  it  clear  to  Cornet  that,  to  secure  a  safe  basis  of 
generalisation,  by  causing  it  to  embrace  a  sufficient 
number  of  years,  he  must  confine  himself  solely  to  the 
nurses  of  the  Catholic  orders.  The  greater  freedom 
enjoyed  and  practised  by  Protestant?,  in  changing  their 


420  ON  THE  ORIGIN,  PROPAGATION, 

occupation,  in  entering  the  married  state,  or  through 
other  modes  of  free  action,  rendered  them  unsuitable 
for  the  purpose  he  had  in  view.  Cornet's  inquiry  ex- 
tended over  a  quarter  of  a  century.  The  returns  fur- 
nished by  thirty-eight  hospitals  served  by  Catholic 
sisters  and  brethren,  and  embracing  a  yearly  average  of 
4,020  attendants,  showed  the  number  of  deaths  during 
the  period  mentioned  to  be  2,099.  Of  these,  1,320 
were  caused  by  tuberculosis.  In  the  State,  as  a  whole, 
the  proportion  of  deaths  from  this  malady  to  the  total 
number  of  deaths  is  known  to  be  very  high,  reaching 
from  one-fifth  to  one-seventh  of  the  whole.  In  the 
hospitals  this  proportion  was  enormously  increased.  It 
rose  on  the  average  to  almost  two-thirds,  or  close  upon 
63  per  cent,  of  the  total  number  of  deaths.  In  nearly 
half  the  hospitals  even  this  high  proportion  was  sur- 
passed, the  deaths  in  these  amounting  to  three-fourths 
of  the  whole.  Scarcely  any  other  occupation,  however 
injurious  to  health,  shows  a  mortality  equal  to  that 
found  in  these  hospitals. 

The  following  statistics  furnish  a  picture  of  the 
state  of  things  prevalent  during  the  five-and-twenty 
years  referred  to.  A  healthy  girl  of  17,  devoting  her- 
self to  hospital  nursing,  dies  on  the  average  21^  years 
sooner  than  a  girl  of  the  same  age  moving  among  the 
general  population.  A  hospital  nurse  of  the  age  of  25 
has  the  same  expectation  of  life  as  a  person  of  the  age 
of  58  in  the  general  community.  The  age  of  33  years 
in  the  hospital  is  of  the  same  value  as  the  age  of  62  in 
common  life.  The  difference  between  life-value  in  the 
hospital  and  life-value  in  the  State  increases  from  the 
age  of  17  to  the  age  of  24;  nurses  of  this  latter  age 
dying  22  years  sooner  than  girls  of  the  same  age  in  the 
outside  population.  The  difference  afterwards  becomeg 
less.  lu  the  fifties  it  amounts  to  only  six  or  seven 


AND  PEEVENTION  OF  PHTHISIS.  421 

years,  while  later  on  it  vanishes  altogether.  The 
reason  of  this  is,  that  the. older  nurses  are  gradually 
withdrawn  from  the  heavier  duties  of  their  position 
and  the  attendant  danger  of  infection. 

In  these  hospitals,  deaths  from  typhus  and  other 
infectious  disorders  exhibit  a  frequency  far  beyond 
the  normal ;  but  the  enormous  total  augmentation  is 
mainly  to  be  ascribed  to  the  frequency  of  deaths  from 
tuberculosis.  The  excess  of  mortality  is  to  be  referred 
to  the  vocation  of  nursing,  and  the  chances  of  infection 
involved  in  it.  Cornet  examines  other  assumptions 
that  might  be  made  to  account  for  the  mortality,  and 
gives  cogent  reasons  for  dismissing  them  all.  The 
tranquil  lives  led  by  the  nurses,  the  freedom  from  all 
anxiety  in  regard  to  subsistence,  the  moderation  ob- 
served in  food  and  drink,  all  tend  to  the  preservation 
of  health.  They  live  in  peace,  free  from  the  irregula- 
rities of  outside  life,  and  their  contentment  and  cir- 
cumstances generally  are  calculated  rather  to  prolong 
their  days  than  to  shorten  them. 

Cornet  is  very  warm  in  his  recognition  of  the  devo- 
tion of  these  Catholic  nurses,  two-thirds  of  whom  are 
sacrificed  in  the  service  which  they  render  to  suffering 
humanity.  And  they  are  sacrificed  for  the  most  part 
in  the  blossom  of  their  years;  for  it  is  the  younger 
nurses,  engaged  in  the  work  of  sweeping  and  dusting, 
whose  occupation  charges  the  air  they  breathe  with 
virulent  bacilli.  The  statistics  of  their  mortality  Cor- 
net regards  as  a  monumental  record  of  their  lofty 
self-denial,  their  noble,  beneficent,  and  modest  fidelity 
to  what  they  regard  as  the  religious  duty  of  their 
1  i  ves. 

But,  he  asks,  is  it  necessary  that  this  sacrifice 
should  continue  ?  His  answer  is  an  emphatic  negative, 
to  establish  which  he  again  suras  up  the  results  which 


422  ON  THE   ORIGIN,  PROPAGATION, 

we  have  learnt  from  his  first  memoir: — It  is  univers- 
ally recognised  that  tuberculosis  is  caused  by  tubercle 
bacilli,  which  reach  the  lungs  through  the  inhalation 
of  air  in  which  the  bacilli  are  diffused.  They  come 
almost  exclusively  from  the  dried  sputum  of  consump- 
tive persons.  The  moist  sputum,  as  also  the  expired 
breath  of  the  consumptive  patient,  is,  for  this  mode  of 
infection,  without  danger.  If  we  can  prevent  the  dry- 
ing of  the  expectorated  matter,  we  prevent  in  the  same 
degree  the  possibility  of'  infection.  It  is  not,  however, 
sufficient  to  place  a  spittoon  at  the  disposal  of  the 
patient.  The  strictest  surveillance  must  be  exercised 
by  both  physicians  and  attendants,  to  enforce  the  pro- 
per use  of  the  spittoon,  and  to  prevent  the  reckless  dis- 
posal of  the  infective  phlegm.  Spitting  on  the  floor 
or  into  pocket-handkerchiefs  is  the  main  source  of 
peril.  To  this  must  be  added' the  soiling  of  the  bed- 
clothes and  the  wiping  of  the  patient's  mouth.  The 
handkerchiefs  used  for  this  purpose  must  be  handled 
with  care,  and  boiled  without  delay.  Various  other 
sources  of  danger,  kissing  among  them,  will  occur  to 
the  physician.  A  phthisical  mother,  by  kissing  her 
healthy  child,  may  seal  its  doom.  Notices,  impressing 
on  the  patients  the  danger  of  not  attending  to  the  pre- 
cautions laid  down  in  the  hospital,  ought  to  be  posted 
up  in  every  sick-room,  while  all  wilful  infringements  of 
the  rules  ought  to  be  sternly  punished.  Thus  may  the 
terrible  mortality  of  hospital  nurses  be  diminished,  if 
not  abolished ;  the  wards  where  they  are  occupied  being 
rendered  as  salubrious  as  those  surgical  wards  in  which 
no  bacilli  could  be  found. 

Reflecting  on  the  two  investigations  which  I  have 
here  endeavoured  to  bring,  lucidly  if  briefly,  before 
xny  readers,  the  question  arises — l  What,  under  the 


PREVENTION  OF  PHTHISIS.  423 

circumstances,  is  the  duty  of  the  English  public  and 
tbo  English  Government?'  Will  the  former  suffer 
themselves  to  be  deluded,  and  the  latter  frightened,  by 
a  number  of  loud-tongued  sentimentalists,  who,  in  view 
of  the  researches  they  oppose,  and  the  fatal  effects  of 
their  opposition,  might  be  fairly  described  as  a  crew 
of  well-meaning  homicides.  The  only  way  of  com- 
bating this  terrible  scourge  of  tuberculosis  and,  indeed, 
of  abolishing  all  other  infectious  diseases,  is  experi- 
mental investigation  ;  and  the  most  effectual  mode  of 
furthering  such  investigation,  just  now  in  England,  is 
the  establishment  of  that  <  Institute  of  Preventive  Medi- 
cine '  which,  I  am  rejoiced  to  learn,  has,  after  due  con- 
sideration, been  licensed  by  the  President  of  the  Board 
of  Trade.  Whatever  my  illustrious  friend,  the  late 
Mr.  Carlyle,  may  have  said  to  the  contrary,  the  English 
public,  in  its  relation  to  the  question  now  before  us, 
are  not  '  mostly  fools ' ;  and  if  scientific  men  only  ex- 
hibit the  courage  and  industry  of  their  opponents,  they 
will  make  clear  to  that  public  the  beneficence  of  their 
aims,  and  the  fatal  delusions  to  which  a  narrow  and 
perverted  view  of  a  great  question  has  committed  the 
anti-vivisectionist. 

The  letter  to  the  ' Times'  of  April  22nd,  1882,  de- 
scribing Koch's  epoch-making  discovery  of  the  tubercle 
bacillus,  is  here  introduced : — 

To  the  Editor  of  the  <  Times: 

Sm,— On  the  24th  of  March,  1882,  an  address  of 
very  serious  public  import  was  delivered  by  Dr.  Kocii 
before  the  Physiological  Society  of  Berlin.  It  touches 
a  question  in  which  we  are  all  at  present  interested — 
that  of  experimental  physiology — and  I  may,  therefore, 


424  LETTER  TO  THE   TDIE8. 

be  permitted  to  give  some  account  of  it  in  the  '  Times/ 
The  address,  a  copy  of  which  has  been  courteously  sent 
to  me  by  its  author,  is  entitled  '  The  Etiology  of 
Tubercular  Disease.'  Koch  first  made  himself  known, 
and  famous,  by  the  penetration,  skill,  and  thoroughness 
of  his  researches  on  the  contagium.  of  anthrax,  or  splenic 
fever.  By  a  process  of  inoculation  and  infection  he 
traced  this  terrible  parasite  through  all  its  stages  of 
development  and  through  its  various  modes  of  action. 
This  masterly  investigation  caused  the  young  physician 
to  be  transferred  from  a  modest  country  practice  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Breslau  to  the  post  of  Govern- 
ment Adviser  in  the  Imperial  Health  Department  of 
Berlin. 

From  this  department  has  lately  issued  a  most  im- 
portant series  of  investigations  on  the  etiology  of  in- 
fective disorders.  Koch's  last  inquiry  deals  with  a 
disease  which,  in  point  of  mortality,  stands  at  the 
head  of  them  all.  l  If,'  he  says,  '  the  seriousness  of  a 
malady  be  measured  by  the  number  of  its  victims, 
then  the  most  dreaded  pests  which  have  hitherto 
ravaged  the  world — plague  and  cholera  included — 
must  stand  far  behind  the  one  now  under  consider- 
ation.' Then  follows  the  startling  statement  that  one- 
seventh  of  the  deaths  of  the  human  race  are  due  to 
tubercular  disease.  Prior  to  Koch  it  had  been  placed 
beyond  doubt  that  the  disease  was  communicable ;  and 
the  aim  of  the  Berlin  physician  has  been  to  determine 
the  precise  character  of  the  contagium  which  previous 
experiments  on  inoculation  and  inhalation  had  proved 
to  be  capable  of  indefinite  transfer  and  reproduction. 
He  subjected  the  diseased  organs  of  a  great  number  of 
men  and  animals  to  microscopic  examination,  and  found, 
in  all  cases,  the  tubercles  infested  by  a  minute,  rod- 
ehaped  parasite,  which,  by  means  of  a  special  dye,  he 


DISCOVEKY  OF  THE  TUBERCLE   BACILLUS.         425 

differentiated  from  the  surrounding  tissue.  *  It  was,' 
he  says,  '  in  the  highest  degree  impressive  to  observe  in 
the  centre  of  the  tubercle- cell  the  minute  organism 
which  had  created  it.'  Transferring  directly,  by 
inoculation,  the  tuberculous  matter  from  diseased 
animals  to  healthy  ones,  he  in  every  instance  re- 
produced the  disease.  To  meet  the  objection  that 
it  was  not  the  parasite  itself,  but  some  virus  in 
which  it  was  imbedded  in  the  diseased  organ,  that 
was  the  real  contagium,  he  cultivated  his  bacilli 
artificially  for  long  periods  of  time  and  through  many 
successive  generations.  With  a  speck  of  matter,  for 
example,  from  a  tuberculous  human  lung,  he  infected 
a  substance  prepared,  after  much  trial,  by  him- 
self, with  the  view  of  affording  nutriment  to  the  para- 
site. In  this  medium  he  permitted  it  to  grow  and 
multiply.  From  the  new  generation  he  took  a  minute 
sample,  and  infected  therewith  fresh  nutritive  matter, 
thus  producing  another  brood.  Generation  after  gener- 
ation of  bacilli  were  developed  in  this  way,  without  the 
intervention  of  disease.  At  the  end  of  the  process, 
which  sometimes  embraced  successive  cultivations  ex- 
tending over  half  a  year,  the  purified  bacilli  were  in- 
troduced into  the  circulation  of  healthy  animals  of 
various  kinds.  In  every  case  inoculation  was  followed 
by  the  reproduction  and  spread  of  the  parasite,  and  the 
generation  of  the  original  disease. 

Permit  me  to  give,  a  little  more  in  detail,  an 
account  of  Koch's  experiments.  Of  six  healthy  guinea- 
pigs,  four  were  inoculated  with  bacilli  derived  origi- 
nally from  a  human  lung,  which,  in  fifty-four  days, 
had  produced  five  successive  generations.  Two  of  the 
Bix  animals  were  not  infected.  In  every  one  of  the 
infected  cases  the  guinea-pig  sickened  and  lost  flesh. 
After  thirty-two  days  one  of  them  died,  and  after  thirty- 


426  LETTER  TO   THE   TDIE3. 

five  days  the  remaining  five  were  killed  and  ex- 
amined. In  the  guinea-pig  that  died,  and  in  the 
three  remaining  infected  ones,  strongly-pronounced 
tubercular  disease  had  set  in.  Spleen,  liver,  and 
lungs  were  found  filled  with  tubercles ;  while  in 
the  two  uninfected  animals  no  trace  of  the  disease 
was  observed.  In  a  second  experiment,  six  out 
of  eight  guinea-pigs  were  inoculated  with  cultivated 
bacilli,  derived  originally  from  the  tuberculous  lung 
of  a  monkey,  bred  and  re-bred  for  ninety-five 
days,  until  eight  generations  had  been  produced. 
Every  one  of  these  animals  was  attacked,  while 
the  two  uninfected  guinea-pigs  remained  perfectly 
healthy.  Similar  experiments  were  made  with  cats, 
rabbits,  rats,  mice,  and  other  animals,  and,  without 
exception,  it  was  found  that  the  injection  of  the  para- 
site into  the  animal  system  was  followed  by  decided 
and,  in  most  cases,  virulent  tubercular  disease. 

In  the  cases  thus  far  mentioned  inoculation  had 
been  effected  in  the  abdomen.  The  place  of  inoculation 
was  afterwards  changed  to  the  aqueous  humour  of  the 
eye.  Three  rabbits  received  each  a  speck  of  bacillus- 
culture,  derived  originally  from  a  human  lung  affected 
with  phthisis.  Eighty-nine  days  had  been  devoted 
to  the  culture  of  the  organism.  The  infected  rabbits 
rapidly  lost  flesh,  and  after  twenty-five  days  were  killed 
and  examined.  The  lungs  of  every  one  of  them  were 
found  charged  with  tubercles.  Of  three  other  rabbits, 
one  received  an  injection  of  pure  blood-serum  in  the 
aqueous  humour  of  the  eye,  while  the  other  two  were 
infected  in  a  similar  way,  with  the  same  serum,  con- 
taining bacilli  derived  originally  from  a  diseased  lung, 
and  subjected  to  ninety-one  days'  cultivation.  After 
twenty-eight  days  the  rabbits  were  killed.  The  one 
which  had  received  an  injection  of  pure  serum  was 


DISCOVERY  OF  THE  TUEEKCLE  BACILLUS.       427 

found  perfectly  healthy,  while  the  lungs  of  the  two 
others  were  found  overspread  with  tubercles. 

Other  experiments  are  recorded  in  this  admirable 
essay,  from  which  the  weightiest  practical  conclusions 
may  be  drawn.  Koch  determines  the  limits  of  temper- 
ature between  which  the  tubercle  bacillus  can  develop 
and  multiply.  The  minimum  temperature  he  finds 
to  be  86°  Fahr.,  and  the  maximum,  104°.  He  con- 
cludes that,  unlike  the  Bacillus  anthracis  of  splenic 
fever,  which  can  flourish  freely  outside  the  animal 
body,  in  the  temperate  zone  animal  warmth  is  neces- 
sary for  the  propagation  of  the  newly -discovered 
organism.  In  a  vast  number  of  cases  Koch  has 
examined  the  matter  expectorated  from  the  lungs 
of  persons  affected  with  phthisis,  and  found  in  it 
swarms  of  bacilli,  while  in  matter  discharged  from 
the  lungs  of  persons  not  thus  afflicted  he  has  never 
found  the  organism.  The  sputum  in  the  former  cases 
was  highly  infective,  nor  did  drying  destroy  its 
virulence.  Guinea-pigs  infected  with  expectorated 
matter  which  had  been  kept  dry  for  two,  four,  and 
eight  weeks  respectively,  were  smitten  with  tubercular 
disease  quite  as  virulent  as  that  produced  by  fresh 
expectoration.  Koch  points  to  the  grave  danger  of 
inhaling  air  in  which  particles  of  the  dried  sputa  of 
consumptive  patients  mingle  with  dust  of  other 
kinds. 

The  moral  of  these  experiments  is  obvious.  In 
no  other  conceivable  way  than  that  pursued  by  Koch 
could  the  true  character  of  the  most  destructive 
malady  by  which  humanity  is  now  assailed  be  de- 
termined. And  however  noisy  the  fanaticism  of  the 
moment  may  be,  the  common-sense  of  Englishmen 
will  not,  in  the  long  run,  permit  it  to  enact  cruelty 
in  the  name  of  tenderness,  or  to  debar  us  from  the 
28 


428  WAENING    "NOTE." 

light  and  leading  of  such  investigations  as  that  which 
is  here  so  imperfectly  described. 

Your  obedient  servant, 

JOHN  TINDALL. 

HIND  HEAD,  April  20, 1882. 


NOTE. 

Twenty  years  ago  I  received  letters  describing  to  me  the  grief 
and  ruin  introduced  into  families  through  the  notion,  then  preva- 
lent, that  typhoid  fever  is  non-contagious.  When  Dr.  William  Budd 
published  his  researches  on  this  subject,  showing  by  facts  and 
reasonings  as  cogent  as  it  was  in  the  power  of  science  to  supply, 
the  infectiousness  of  the  fever,  certain  writers  discerned  in  that 
important  work  a  proof  of  the  decadence  of  Budd's  intellect,  and 
gave  the  public  the  benefit  of  their  conclusions. 

In  regard  to  the  contagiousness  of  phthisis,  we  have  now,  it 
seems,  to  face  the  same  danger.  It  may  not,  therefore,  be  out  of 
place  to  cite  an  illustration  of  the  recklessness  stimulated  by  the 
assertion  that  'consumption  is  not  an  infectious  disease.'  While 
occupied  with  experiments  on  the  inhalation  of  tuberculous  air  by 
dogs,  Tappeiner  was  assisted  by  a  robust  man  of  forty,  who  waa 
specially  warned  never  to  tarry  in  the  locality  where  the  dogs  were 
confined.  He,  however,  seemed  bent  on  proving  the  doctrine  of 
tubercle-contagion  to  be  a  delusion,  and  recklessly  exposed  himself 
to  the  infective  air.  This  strong  _man,  who  was  free  from  any 
suspicion  of  hereditary  taint,  was  smitten  by  tuberculosis  of  exactly 
the  same  kind  as  that  exhibited  by  the  dogs,  and  in  fourteen  weeks 
\  e  was  a  corpse.  Examination  after  death  proved  the  identity  of 
the  disease  which  killed  him  with  that  which  affected  the  dogs; 
tlie  only  difference  being  that  he,  having  lived  longer,  exhibited  the 
malady  ia  a  more  advanced  stage.  (October,  IttUl.J  J.  T. 


OLD  ALPISE  JOTTINGS 


rs  ago,  at  the  instance  of  Mr.  Macmillan, 
J_  I  threw  these  *  jottings  '  together  for  his  excel- 
lent magazine.  In  surveying  them  I  notice,  what  is 
confirmed  by  a  larger  survey,  that  my  life,  in  regard 
to  working  power  and  consequent  enjoyment,  has  been 
one  of  ups  and  downs.  Intellectual  work  has  its  de- 
lights and  drawbacks.  Strain  and  worry  of  mind  are 
admitted  causes  of  physical  disturbance,  and  of  them 
I  have  had  my  share.  'Materialism'  is  also  better 
understood  than  it  used  to  be  ;  and  no  man  subject  to 
a  weak  digestion  with  periodic  loss  of  sleep  will  be  in- 
disposed to  assign  to  material  things  a  transcendental 
value.  They  act  upon  body  and  mind  ;  predisposing  the 
organ  of  intellect  and  imagination  to  give  to  current 
events,  especially  on  wakeful  nights,  an  over-brilliant 
colouring.  For  such  derangements  I  know  nothing 
better  than  a  dose  of  the  glaciers  —  under  the  condition, 
however,  that  they  have  an  organism  needing  purifica- 
tion and  repair,  but  otherwise  sound  all  round,  to 
act  upon.  The  reader  would  err  if  he  imagined  thafc 
the  '  lowness  of  spirits'  revealed  here  and  there  in  these 
«  jottings  '  was  a  permanent  lowness.  The  contemplated 
abandonment  of  the  Alps  was  all  moonshine.  Seven 
years  after  my  '  leave-taking  '  I  built  my  aerie  upon  the 


430  OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS. 

heights,  where  the  snow,  which  falls  as  I  write,  heightens, 
instead  of  lowering,  the  inner  temperature  of  the  old 
mountaineer. 

A  u- ust  24,  1889. 


PART  L 

SINCE  the  publication,  seven  years  ago,  of  a  little  tract 
entitled  '  Mountaineering  in  1861,'  I  have  contributed 
hardly  anything  to  the  literature  of  the  Alps.  I  have 
gone  to  them  every  year,  and  found  among  them  refuge 
and  recovery  from  the  work  and  the  worry — which  acts 
with  far  deadlier  corrosion  on  the  brain  than  real  work — 
of  London.  Herein  consisted  the  fascination  of  the 
Alps  for  me :  they  appealed  at  once  to  thought  and 
feeling,  offering  their  problems  to  the  one  and  their 
grandeurs  to  the  other,  while  conferring  upon  the  body 
the  soundness  and  the  purity  necessary  to  the  healthful 
exercise  of  both.  There  is,  however,  a  natural  end  to 
Alpine  discipline,  and  henceforth  mine  will  probably  be 
to  me  a  memory.  The  last  piece  of  work  requiring 
performance  on  my  part  was  executed  last  summer; 
and,  unless  temptation  of  unexpected  strength  assail 
roe,  this  must  be  my  last  considerable  climb.  With 
soberness  of  mind,  but  without  any  approach  to  regret,  I 
take  my  leave  of  the  higher  Alpine  peaks. 

And  this  is  why  it  has  occurred  to  me  to  throw 
together  these  odds  and  ends  of  Alpine  experience  into 
a  kind  of  cairn  to  the  memory  of  a  life  well  loved. 
Previous  to  the  year  1860,  I  knew  the  Matterhorn  as 
others  did,  merely  as  a  mountain  wonder,  for  up  to  that 
time  no  human  foot  had  ever  been  placed  on  its  repel- 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  481 

lent  crags.  It  is  but  right  to  state  that  the  man  who 
first  really  examined  the  Matterhorn,  in  company  with 
a  celebrated  guide,  who  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
it  was  assailable  if  not  accessible,  was  Mr.  Vaughan 
Hawkins.  It  was  at  his  suggestion  that  in  August  1860 
I  took  part  in  the  earliest  assault  upon  this  formidable 
peak.  We  halted  midway,  stopped  less  by  difficulty, 
though  that  was  great,  than  by  want  of  time.  In  1862 
I  made  a  more  determined  attack  upon  the  mountain, 
but  was  forced  to  recoil  from  its  final  precipice;  for 
time,  the  great  reducer  of  Alpine  difficulties,  was  again 
wanting.  On  that  occasion  1  was  accompanied  by  two 
Swiss  guides  and  two  Italian  porters.  Three  of  these 
four  men  pronounced  flatly  against  the  final  precipice. 
Indeed,  they  had  to  be  urged  by  degrees  along  the  sharp 
and  jagged  ridge — the  most  savage,  in  my  opinion,  on 
the  whole  Matterhorn — which  led  up  to  its  base.  The 
only  man  of  the  four  who  never  uttered  the  word 
'  impossible  '  was  Johann  Joseph  Bennen,  the  bravest  of 
brave  guides,  who  now  lies  in  the  graveyard  of  Ernan, 
in  the  higher  valley  of  the  Rhone.  We  were  not  only 
defeated  by  the  Matterhorn,  but  were  pelted  down  its 
crags  by  pitiless  hail. 

On  the  day  subsequent  to  this  defeat,  while  crossing 
the  Cimes  Blanches  with  Bennen,  we  halted  to  have  a 
last  look  at  the  mountain.  Previous  to  quitting  Breuil 
I  had  proposed  to  him  to  make  another  attempt.  He 
was  adverse  to  it,  and  my  habit  was  never  to  persuade 
him.  On  the  Cimes  Blanches  I  turned  to  him  and  used 
these  words  :  '  I  leave  Breuil  dissatisfied  with  what  we 
have  done.  We  ought  never  to  have  quitted  the  Matter- 
horn  without  trying  yonder  arete.'  The  ridge  to 
which  Bennen's  attention  was  then  directed  certainly 
seemed  practicable,  and  it  led  straight  to  the  summit. 
There  was  moisture  in  the  strong  man's  eyes  as  he  re- 


432  OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS. 

plied,  falling  into  the  patois  which  he  employed  when 
his  feelings  were  stirred  :  '  What  could  I  do,  sir  ?  not 
one  of  them  would  accompany  me.'  It  was  the  accurate 
truth. 

To  reach  the  point  where  we  halted  in  1862  one 
particularly  formidable  precipice  had  to  be  scaled.  1 1 
had  also  to  be  descended  on  our  return,  and  to  get  down 
would  be  much  more  hazardous  than  to  climb.  At  the 
top  of  the -precipice  we  therefore  fastened  a  rope,  and 
by  it  reached  in  succession  the  bottom.  This  rope  had 
been  specially  manufactured  for  the  Matterhorn  by  Mr. 
Good,  of  King  William  Street,  City,  to  whom  I  had 
been  recommended  by  his  landlord,  Appold,  the  famous 
mechanician.  In  the  summer  of  1865,  the  early  part 
of  which  was  particularly  favourable  to  the  attempt,  one 
of  the  Italians  (Carrel  dit  le  Bersaglier)  who  accom- 
panied me  in  1862,  and  who  proved  himself  on  that 
occasion  a  first-rate  cragsman,  again  tried  his  fortune 
on  the  Matterhorn.  He  reached  my  rope,  and  found  it 
bleached  to  snowy  whiteness.  It  had  been  exposed  for 
three  years  to  all  kinds  of  weather,  and  to  the  fraying 
action  of  the  storms  which  assail  the  Matterhorn ;  but 
it  bore,  on  being  tested,  the  united  weights  of  three 
men.1  By  this  rope  the  summit  of  the  precipice  which 
had  giveu  us  so  much  trouble  in  1862  was  easily  and 
rapidly  attained.  A  higher  Nachtlager  was  thus 
secured,  and  more  time  was  gained  for  the  examination 
of  the  mountain.  Every  climber  knows  the  value  of 
time  in  a  case  of  the  kind.  The  result  of  the  scrutiny 
was  that  a  way  was  found  up  the  Matterhorn  from  the 
Italian  side,  that  way  being  the  ridge  referred  to  in  my 
conversation  with  Bennen  three  years  before. 

Committed  thus  and  in  other  ways  to  the  Matter- 
horn,  the  condition  of  my  mind  regarding  it  might  ba 

1  A  yard  of  this  rope  is  now  in  my  possession. 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  433 

fitly  compared  to  one  of  those  uncheerful  tenement* 
often  seen  in  the  neighbourhood  of  London,  where  an 
adventurous  contractor  has  laid  the  foundations,  run  up 
the  walls,  fixed  the  rafters,  but  stopped  short,  through 
bankruptcy,  without  completing  the  roof.  As  long  as 
the  Matterhorn  remained  unsealed,  my  Alpine  life  could 
hardly  be  said  to  be  covered  in,  and  the  admonitions  of 
my  friends  were  premature.  But  now  that  the  work  is 
done,  they  will  have  more  reason  to  blame  me  if  I  fail 
to  profit  by  their  prudent  advice. 

Another  defeat  of  a  different  character  was  also 
inflicted  on  me  in  1862.  Wishing  to  give  my  friend 
Mr.  (now  Sir  John)  Lubbock  a  taste  of  mountain  life,  I 
went  with  him  up  the  Galen  stock.  This  pleased  him  so 
much  that  Bennen  and  I,  desiring  to  make  his  cup  of 
pleasure  full,  decided  on  taking  him  up  the  Jtingfrau. 
We  sent  two  porters,  laden  with  coverlets  and  provisions, 
from  the  ^Eggischhorn  to  the  Faulberg,  but  on  our 
arrival  there  found  one  of  the  porters  in  the  body  of  the 
Aletsch  glacier.  He  had  recklessly  sought  to  cross  a 
snow-bridge  which  spanned  a  broad  and  profound  chasm. 
The  bridge  broke  under  him,  he  fell  in,  and  was  deeply 
covered  by  the  frozen  debris  which  followed  him.  He 
had  been  there  for  an  hour  when  we  arrived,  and  it 
required  nearly  another  hour  to  dig  him  out.  We 
carried  him  more  dead  than  alive  to  .the  Faulberg  cave, 
and  by  great  care  restored  him.  As  I  lay  there  wet, 
through  the  long  hours  of  that  dismal  night,  I  almost 
registered  a  vow  never  to  tread  upon  a  glacier  again. 
But,  like  the  forces  in  the  physical  world,  human 
emotions  vary  with  the  distance  from  their  origin,  and  a 
year  afterwards  I  was  again  upon  the  ice.  Towards  the 
close  of  1862  Bennen  and  myself  made  'the  tour  of 
Monte  Rosa,'  halting  for  a  day  or  two  at  the  excellent 
hostelry  of  Delapierre,  in  the  magnificent  Val  du  Lys, 


484  OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINQa 

We  scrambled  up  the  Grauliaupt,  a  point  exceedingly 
favourable  to  the  study  of  the  conformation  of  the  Alps. 
We  also  halted  at  Alagna  and  Macugnaga.  But,  not- 
withstanding their  admitted  glory,  the  Italian  valleys 
of  the  Alps  did  not  suit  either  Bennen  or  ine.  We 
longed  for  the  more  tonic  air  of  the  northern  slopes, 
and  were  glad  to  change  the  valley  of  Ansasca  for  that 
of  Saas. 

The  first  days  ot  the  vacation  of  1863  were  spent  in 
the  company  of  Mr.  Philip  Lutley  Sclater.  On  July  19 
we  reached  Reichenbach,  and  on  the  following  day 
sauntered  up  the  valley  of  Hasli,  turning  to  the  left 
at  Imhof  into  Gadmenthal.  Our  destination  was  Stein, 
which  we  reached  by  a  grass-grown  road  through  fine 
scenery.  The  goatherds  were  milking  when  we  arrived. 
At  the  heels  of  one  quadruped,  supported  by  the  ordi- 
nary one-legged  stool  of  the  Senner,  bent  a  par- 
ticularly wild  and  dirty-looking  individual,  who,  our 
guide  informed  us,  was  the  proprietor  of  the  inn.  '  He 
is  but  a  rough  Bauer,'  said  our  guide  Jaun,  *  but  he  has 
engaged  a  pretty  maiden  to  keep  house  for  him.'  While 
lie  thus  spoke  a  light-footed  creature  glided  from  the 
door  towards  us,  and  bade  us  welcome.  She  led  us 
upstairs,  provided  us  with  baths,  took  our  orders  for 
dinner,  helped  us  by  her  suggestions,  and  answered  all 
our  questions  with  the  utmost  propriety  and  grace. 
She  had  been  two  years  in  England,  and  spoke  English 
with  a  particularly  winning  accent.  How  she  came  to 
be  associated  with  the  unkempt  brute  outside  was  a 
puzzle  to  both  of  us.  It  is  Emerson,  I  think,  who 
remarks  on  the  benefit  which  a  beautiful  face,  without 
trouble  to  itself,  confers  upon  him  who  looks  at  it. 
And,  though  the  splendour  of  actual  beauty  could 
hardly  be  claimed  for  our  young  hostess,  she  was  hand- 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  435 

some  enough  and  graceful  enough  to  brighten  a  tired 
traveller's  thoughts,  and  to  raise  by  her  presence  the 
modest  comforts  she  dispensed  to  the  level  of  luxuries.1 

It  rained  all  night,  and  at  3.30  A.M.,  when  we  w»ve 
called,  it  still  fell  heavily.  At  five,  however,  the 
clouds  began  to  break,  and  half  an  hour  afterwards  the 
heavens  were  swept  quite  clear  of  them.  At  six  we 
bade  our  pretty  blossom  of  the  Alps  good-bye.  She 
had  previously  to  bring  her  gentle  influence  to  bear 
upon  her  master  to  moderate  the  extortion  of  some  of 
his  charges.  We  were  soon  upon  the  Stein  glacier, 
and  after  some  time  reached  a  col  from  which  we 
looked  down  upon  the  lower  portion  of  the  nobler  and 
more  instructive  Trift  glacier.  Brown  bands  were 
drawn  across  the  ice-stream,  forming  graceful  loops 
with  their  convexities  turned  downwards.  The  higher 
portions  of  the  glacier  were  not  in  view,  still  those 
bands  rendered  the  inference  secure  that  an  ice- fall 
existed  higher  up,  at  the  base  of  which  the  bands 
originated.  We  shot  down  a  shingly  couloir  to  the 
Trift,  and  looking  up  the  glacier,  the  anticipated  cas- 
cade came  into  view.  At  its  bottom  the  ice,  by 
pressure,  underwent  that  notable  change,  analogous  to 
slaty  cleavage,  which  caused  the  glacier  to  weather  in 
parallel  grooves,  and  thus  mark  by  the  dirt  upo1!  its 
surface  the  direction  of  its  interior  lamination. 

The  ice-cascade     being    itself  impracticable,    we 

1  Thackeray,  in  his  '  Peg  of  Limarady,'  is  perhaps  more  to  the 
point  than  Emerson  : — 

*  Presently  a  maid 

Enters  with  the  liquor- 
Hal  f-a-pint  of  ale 

Frothing  in  a  beaker ; 
As  she  came  she  smiled, 

And  the  smile  bewitching, 
On  my  word  and  honour 
Lighted  all  the  kitchen,' 


436  OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS. 

scaled  the  flanking  rocks,  and  were  soon  in  presence  of 
the  far-stretching  snow-fields  from  which  the  lower 
glacier  derives  nutriment.  With  a  view  to  hidden 
crevasses,  we  here  roped  ourselves  together.  The  sun 
was  strong,  its  direct  and  reflected  blaze  combining 
against  us.  The  scorching  warmth  experienced  at 
times  by  cheeks,  lips,  and  neck,  indicated,  in  my  case, 
that  mischief  was  brewing.  But  the  eyes  being  well 
protected  by  dark  spectacles,  I  was  comparatively  indif- 
ferent to  the  prospective  disfigurement  of  my  face. 
Mr.  Sclater  was  sheltered  by  a  veil,  a  mode  of  defence 
which  the  habit  of  going  into  places  requiring  the 
unimpeded  eyesight  has  caused  me  to  neglect.  There 
seems  to  be  some  specific  quality  in  the  sun's  rays 
which  produces  the  irritation  of  the  skin  experienced 
in  the  Alps.  The  solar  heat  may  be  compared,  in 
point  of  quantity,  with  that  radiated  from  a  furnace ; 
and  the  heat  which  the  mountaineer  experiences  on 
Alpine  snows  is  certainly  less  intense  than  that  en- 
countered by  workmen  in  many  of  our  technical 
operations.  But  terrestrial  heat  appears  to  lack  the 
quality  which  gives  the  sun's  rays  their  power.  The 
sun  is  incomparably  richer  in  what  are  called  chemical 
rays  than  are  our  fires,  and  to  these  chemical  rays  the 
irritation  may  be  due.1  The  keen  air  of  the  heights 
may  also  have  something  to  do  with  it.  As  a  remedy 
for  sunburn  I  have  tried  glycerine,  and  found  it  a 
failure.  The  ordinary  lip-salve  of  the  druggists'  shops 
is  also  worse  than  useless,  but  pure  cold  cream,  for  a 
supply  of  which  I  have  had  on  more  than  one  occasion 
to  thank  a  friend,  is  an  excellent  ameliorative. 

After  considerable  labour  we  reached  the  ridge — 
a  very  glorious  one  as  regards  the  view — which  forms 

1  I  might  have  said  '  is  certainly  due.'  A  powerful  '  arc-light ' 
produces,  in  a  sheltered  room,  substantially  the  same  effect  as  the 
sun. 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  437 

the  common  boundary  of  the  Rhone  and  Trift  glaciers.1 
Before  us  and  behind  us  for  many  a  mile  fell  the 
dazzling  neves,  down  to  the  points  where  the  grey  ice 
emerging  from  its  white  coverlet  declared  the  junction 
of  snow-field  and  glacier.  We  had  plodded  on  for  hours 
soddened  by  the  solar  heat  and  parched  with  thirst. 
There  was 

Water,  water  everywhere, 
But  not  a  drop  to  drink. 

For,  when  placed  in  the  mouth,  the  liquefaction  of  the 
ice  was  so  slow,  and  the  loss  of  heat  from  the  surround- 
ing tissues  so  painful,  that  sucking  it  was  worse  than 
total  abstinence.  In  the  midst  of  this  solid  water  you 
might  die  of  thirst.  At  some  distance  below  the  col, 
on  the  Rhone  side,  the  musical  trickle  of  the  liquid 
made  itself  audible,  and  to  the  rocks  from  which  it 
fell  we  repaired  and  refreshed  ourselves.  The  day  was 
far  spent,  the  region  was  wild  and  lonely,  when,  beset 
by  that  feeling  which  has  often  caused  me  to  wander 
singly  in  the  Alps,  I  broke  away  from  my  companions, 
and  went  rapidly  down  the  snow-field.  Our  guide  had 
previously  informed  me  that  before  reaching  the  cascade 
of  the  Rhone  glacier  the  ice  was  to  be  forsaken,  and  the 
Grimsel,  our  destination,  reached  by  skirting  the  base 
of  the  peak  called  Nagelis  Gratli.  After  descending 
the  ice  for  some  time  I  struck  the  bounding  rocks,  and 
climbing  the  mountain  obliquely,  found  myself  among 
the  crags  which  lie  between  the  Grimsel  pass  and  the 
Rhone  glacier.  It  was  an  exceedingly  desolate  place, 
and  I  soon  had  reason  to  doubt  the  wisdom  of  being 
there  alone.  Still,  difficulty  rouses  powers  of  which  we 
should  otherwise  remain  unconscious.  The  heat  of  the 

1  Seven  years  previously  Mr.  Huxley  and  myself  had  attempted 
to  reach  this  col  from  the  other  side. 


438  OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS. 

day  had  rendered  me  weary,  but  among  these  rocks  the 
weariness  vanished,  and  I  became  clear  in  mind  and 
fresh  in  body  through  the  necessity  of  escape  before 
nightfall  from  this  wilderness. 

I  reached  the  watershed  of  the  region.  Here  a 
tiny  stream  offered  me  its  company,  which  I  accepted. 
It  received  in  its  course  various  lateral  tributaries,  and 
at  one  place  expanded  into  a  blue  lake  bounded  by 
banks  of  snow.  The  stream  quitted  this  lake  aug- 
mented in  volume,  and  I  kept  along  its  side  until, 
arching  over  a  brow  of  granite,  it  discharged  itself 
down  the  glaciated  rocks,  which  rise  above  the  Grimsel. 
In  fact,  this  stream  was  the  feeder  of  the  Grimsel  lake. 
I  halted  on  the  brow  for  some  time.  The  hospice  was 
fairly  in  sight,  but  the  precipices  between  me  and 
it  seemed  desperately  ugly.  Nothing  is  more  trying 
to  the  climber  than  cliffs  which  have  been  polished 
by  the  ancient  glaciers.  Even  at  moderate  inclina- 
tions, as  may  be  learned  from  an  experiment  on  the 
Hollenplatte,  or  some  other  of  the  polished  rocks  in 
Haslitbal,  they  are  not  easy.  I  need  hardly  say  that 
the  inclination  of  the  rocks  flanking  the  Grimsel  is  the 
reverse  of  moderate.  It  is  dangerously  steep. 

How  to  get  down  these  smooth  and  precipitous 
tablets  was  now  a  problem  of  the  utmost  interest  to  me  ; 
for  the  day  was  too  far  gone,  and  I  was  too  ignorant  of 
the  locality,  to  permit  of  time  being  spent  in  the  search 
of  an  easier  place  of  descent.  Eight  or  left  of  me  I  saw 
none.  The  continuity  of  the  cliffs  below  me  was  occa- 
sionally broken  by  cracks  and  narrow  ledges,  with  scanty 
grass-tufts  sprouting  from  them  here  and  there.  The 
problem  was  how  to  get  down  from  crack  to  crack  and 
from  ledge  to  ledge.  A  salutary  anger  warms  the  mind 
when  thus  challenged,  and,  aided  by  this  warmth,  close 
scrutiny  will  dissolve  difficulties  which  might  otherwise 


OLD   ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  439 

seem  insuperable.  Bit  by  bit  I  found  myself  getting 
lower,  closely  examining  at  every  pause  the  rocks  below. 
The  grass-tufts  helped  me  for  a  time,  but  at  length  a 
rock  was  reached  on  which  no  friendly  grass  could  grow. 
This  slab  was  succeeded  by  others  equally  forbidding. 
A  slip  was  not  admissible  here.  I  looked  upwards, 
thinking  of  retreat,  but  the  failing  day  urged  me  on. 
From  the  middle  of  the  smooth  surface  jutted  a  ledge 
about  fifteen  inches  long  and  about  four  inches  deep. 
Once  upon  this  ledge  I  saw  that  I  could  v/ork  obliquely 
to  the  left-hand  limit  of  the  face  of  the  rock,  and  reach 
the  grass-tufts  once  more.  Grasping  the  top  of  the 
rock,  I  let  myself  down  as  far  as  my  stretched  arms 
would  permit,  and  then  let  go  my  hold.  The  boot- 
nails  had  next  to  no  power  as  a  brake,  the  hands  had 
still  less,  and  I  came  upon  the  ledge  with  an  energy 
that  shocked  me.  A  streak  of  grass  beside  the  rock 
was  next  attained  ;  it  terminated  in  a  small  steep  couloir, 
the  portion  of  which  within  view  was  crossed  by  three 
transverse  ledges.  There  was  no  hold  on  either  side  of 
it,  but  I  thought  that  by  friction  the  motion  down  the 
groove  could  be  so  regulated  as  to  enable  me  to  come 
to  rest  at  each  successive  ledge.  Once  started,  however, 
my  motion  was  exceedingly  rapid.  I  shot  over  the  first 
ledge,  an  uncomfortable  jolt  marking  my  passage. 
Jlvii-e  I  tried  to  clamp  myself  against  the  rock,  but  the 
second  ledge  was  crossed  like  the  first.  The  outlook 
now  became  alarming,  and  I  made  a  desperate  effort  to 
stop  the  motion.  Braces  gave  way,  clothes  were  torn, 
wrists  and  hands  were  skinned  and  bruised,  while  hips 
and  knees  suffered  variously.  I  did,  however,  stop  my- 
self, and  here  all  serious  difficulty  ended.  I  was  greatly 
heated,  but  a  little  lower  down  reached  a  singular  cave 
in  the  mountain-side,  with  water  dripping  from  its  roof 
into  a  clear  well.  The  ice-cold  liquid  soon  restored  me 


440  OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS. 

to  a  normal  temperature.  I  felt  quite  fresh  on  enter- 
ing the  G-rimsel  inn,  but  a  curious  physiological  effect 
manifested  itself  when  I  had  occasion  to  speak.  The 
power  of  the  brain  over  the  lips  was  so  lowered  that  1 
could  hardly  make  myself  understood. . 

My  guide  Bennen  reached  the  Grimsel  the  following 
morning.  Uncertain  of  my  own  movements,  I  had  per- 
mitted him  this  year  to  make  a  new  engagement,  which 
he  was  now  on  his  way  to  fulfil.  There  was  a  hint  of 
reproach  in  his  tone  as  he  asked  me  whether  his  Herr 
Professor  had  forsaken  him.  There  was  little  fear  of 
this.  A  guide  of  proved  competence,  whose  ways  you 
know,  and  who  knows  you  and  trusts  you,  is  invaluable 
in  the  Alps.  Bennen  was  all  this,  and  more,  to  me. 
As  a  mountaineer,  he  had  no  superior,  and  he  added  to 
his  strength,  courage,  and  skill,  the  qualities  of  a 
natural  gentleman.  He  was  now  ready  to  bear  us  com- 
pany over  the  Oberaarjoch  to  the  ^Eggischhorn.  On 
the- morning  of  the  22nd  we  bade  the  cheerless  Grimsel 
inn  good-bye,  reached  the  Unteraar  glacier,  crossed  its 
load  of  uncomfortable  debris >  and  clambered  up  the 
slopes  at  the  other  side.  Nestled  aloft  in  a  higher 
valley  was  the  Oberaar  glacier,  along  the  unruffled  sur- 
face of  which  our  route  lay. 

The  morning  threatened.  Fitful  gleams  of  sunlight 
wandered  with  the  moving  clouds  over  the  adjacent  ice. 
The  Joch  was  swathed  in  mist,  which  now  and  then  gave 
way,  and  permitted  a  wild  radiance  to  shoot  over  the 
col.  On  the  windy  summit  we  took  a  mouthful  of  food 
and  roped  ourselves  together.  Here,  as  in  a  hundred 
other  places,  I  sought  in  the  fog  for  the  vesicles  of  De 
Saussure,  but  failed  to  find  them.  Bennen,  as  long  aa 
\ve  were  on  the  Berne  side  of  the  col,  permitted  Jaun 
to  take  the  lead ;  but  now  we  looked  into  Wallis,  or 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  441 

rather  into  the  fog  which  filled  it,  and  the  Wallis  guide 
came  to  the  front.  I  knew  the  Viesch  glacier  well ;  it 
is  badly  crevassed,  and  how  Bennen  meant  to  unravel  ita 
difficulties  without  landmarks  I  knew  not.  I  asked 
him  whether,  if  the  fog  continued,  he  could  make  his 
way  down  the  glacier.  There  was  a  pleasant  timbre  in 
Bennen's  voice,  a  light  and  depth  in  his  smile  due  to 
the  blending  together  of  conscious  power  and  warm 
affection.  With  this  smile  he  turned  round  and  said, 
'  Herr  1  Ich  bin  hier  zu  Hause.  Der  Viescher  Gletscher 
ist  meine  Heimath.' 

Downwards  we  went,  striking  the  rocks  of  the 
Rothhorn  so  as  to  avoid  the  riven  ice.  Suddenly  we 
passed  from  dense  fog  into  clear  air ;  we  had  crossed 
'  the  cloud-plane/  and  found  a  transparent  atmosphere 
between  it  and  the  glacier.  The  dense  covering  above 
us  was  sometimes  torn  asunder  by  the  wind,  which 
whirled  the  detached  cloud-tufts  round  the  peaks. 
Contending  air-currents  were  thus  revealed,  and  thun* 
der,  which  is  the  common  associate,  if  not  the  product 
of  such  contention,  began  to  rattle  among  the  crags. 
At  first  the  snow  upon  the  glacier  was  sufficiently  heavy 
to  bridge  the  crevasses,  thus  permitting  of  rapid  motion ; 
but  by  degrees  the  fissures  opened,  and  at  length  drove 
us  to  the  rocks.  These  in  their  turn  became  impractic- 
able. Dropping  down  a  waterfall  well  known  to  the 
climl)ers  of  this  region,  we  came  again  upon  the  ice, 
which  was  here  cut  by  complex  chasms.  These  we  un- 
ravelled as  long  as  necessary,  and  finally  escaped  from 
them  to  the  mountain-side.  The  first  big  drops  of  the 
thunder-shower  were  already  falling  when  we  reached  an 
overhanging  crag  which  gave  us  shelter.  We  quitted 
it  too  soon,  beguiled  by  a  treacherous  gleam  of  blue, 
and  were  thoroughly  drenched  before  we  reached  the 
JEggischhorn. 


442  OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS. 

This  was  my  last  excursion  with  Bennen.  In  the 
month  of  February  of  the  following  year  he  was  killed 
by  an  avalanche  on  the  Haut  de  Cry.  a  mountain  near 
Sion.1 

Having  work  to  execute,  I  remained  at  the  ^Eggisch- 
horn  for  nearly  a  month  in  1863.  My  favourite  place 
for  rest  and  writing  was  a  point  on  the  mountain-side 
about  an  hour  westwards  from  the  hotel,  where  the 
mighty  group  of  the  Mischabel,  the  Matterhorn,  and 
the  Weissliorn  were  in  full  view.  One  day  I  remained 
in  this  position  longer  than  usual,  held  there  by  the 
fascination  of  the  sunset.  The  mountains  bad  stood 
out  nobly  clear  during  the  entire  day,  but  towards 
evening,  upon  the  Dom,  a  cloud  settled,  which  was 
finally  drawn  into  a  long  streamer  by  the  wind.  No- 
thing can  be  finer  than  the  effect  of  the  red  light  of 
sunset  on  those  streamers  of  cloud.  Incessantly  dissi- 
pated, but  ever  renewed,  they  glow  with  the  intensity 
of  flames.  By-and-bye  the  banner  broke,  as  a  liquid 
cylinder  is  known  to  do  when  unduly  stretched,  forming 
a  series  of  cloud-balls  united  together  by  slender  fila- 
ments. I  watched  the  deepening  rose,  and  waited  for 
the  deadly  pallor  which  succeeded  it,  before  I  thought 
of  returning  to  the  hotel. 

On  arriving  there  I  found  the  waitress  in  tears. 
She  conversed  eagerly  with  the  guests  regarding  the 
absence  of  two  ladies  and  a  gentleman,  who  had  quitted 
the  hotel  in  the  morning  without  a  guide,  and  who 
were  now  benighted  on  the  mountain.  Herr  Wellig, 
the  landlord,  was  also  much  concerned.  *I  recom- 

1  A  sum  of  money  was  collected  in  England  for  Bennen's 
mother  and  sisters.  Mr.  Hawkins,  Mr.  Tuckett,  and  myself  had  a 
small  monument  erected  to  his  memory  in  Ernan  churchyard.  The 
supervision  of  the  work  was  entrusted  to  a  clerical  friend  of  Ben- 
nen's, who,  however  well-intentioned,  made  a  poor  use  of  his  trust. 
The  monument  is  mean,  and  its  inscription  untrue. 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  443 

mended  them,'  he  said,  'to  take  a  guide,  but  they 
would  not  heed  me,  and  now  they  are  lost.'  *  But  they 
must  be  found,'  I  rejoined ;  '  at  all  events  they  must 
be  sought.  What  force  have  you  at  hand?'  Three 
active  young  fellows  came  immediately  forward.  Two 
of  them  I  sent  across  the  mountain  by  the  usual  route 
to  the  Margelin  See,  and  the  third  I  took  with  myself 
along  the  watercourse  of  the  ^ggischhorn.  After 
some  walking  we  dipped  into  a  little  dell,  where  the 
glucking  of  cowbells  announced  the  existence  of  chalets. 
The  party  had  been  s^en  passing  there  in  the  morning, 
but  not  returning.  The  embankment  of  the  water- 
course fell  at  some  places  vertically  for  twenty  or  thirty 
feet.  Here  I  thought  an  awkward  slip  might  have 
occurred,  and,  to  meet  the  possibility  of  having  to  carry 
a  wounded  man,  I  took  an  additional  lithe  young  fellow 
from  the  chalet.  We  shouted  as  we  went  along,  but 
the  echoes  were  our  only  response.  Our  pace  was 
rapid,  and  in  the  dubious  light  false  eteps  were  frequent. 
We  all  at  intervals  mistook  the  grey  water  for  the  grey 
and  narrow  track  beside  it,  and  stepped  into  the  stream. 
We  proposed  ascending  to  the  chalets  of  Margelin,  but 
previous  to  quitting  the  watercourse  we  halted,  and 
directing  our  voices  down  hill,  shouted  a  last  shout. 
And  faintly  up  the  mountain  came  a  sound  which  could 
not  be  an  echo.  We  all  heard  it,  though  it  could 
hardly  be  detached  from  the  murmur  of  the  adjacent 
stream.  We  went  rapidly  down  the  alp,  and  after  a 
little  time  shouted  again.  More  audible  than  before, 
but  still  very  faint,  came  the  answer  from  below.  We 
continued  at  a  headlong  pace,  and  soon  assured  our- 
selves that  the  sound  was  not  only  that  of  a  human 
voice,  but  of  an  English  voice.1  Thus  stimulated,  we 

1  We  were,  however,  nearly  thrown  off  the  scent  by  »  ladj  of 
the  party  cooing  in  Australian  fashion 

29 


444  OLD   ALPINE  JOTTINGS. 

swerved  to  the  left,  and,  regardless  of  a  wetting,  dashed 
through  the  torrent  which  tumbles  from  the  Margelin 
See.  Close  to  the  Viesch  glacier  we  found  the  objects 
of  our  search ;  the  two  ladies,  tired  out,  seated  upon 
the  threshold  of  a  forsaken  chalet,  and  the  gentleman 
seated  on  a  rock  beside  them. 

He  had  started  with  a  sprained  ankle,  and  every 
visitor  knows  how  bewildering  the  spurs  of  the  -^Eg- 
gischhorn  are,  even  to  those  with  sound  tendons.  He 
had  lost  his  way,  and  in  his  efforts  to  extricate  him- 
self, had  experienced  one  or  two  serious  tumbles. 
Finally,  giving  up  the  attempt,  he  had  resigned  him- 
self to  spending  the  night  where  we  found  him.  What 
the  consequences  of  exposure  in  such  a  place  would 
have  been  I  know  not.  To  reach  the  ^Eggischhorn 
that  night  was  out  of  the  question ;  the  ladies  were  too 
exhausted.  I  tried  the  chalet  door  and  found  it  locked, 
but  my  ice-axe  soon  hewed  the  bolt  away,  and  forced 
an  entrance.  There  was  some  pine-wood  within,  and 
some  old  hay  which,  under  the  circumstances,  formed 
a  delicious  couch  for  the  ladies.  In  a  few  minutes  a 
fire  was  blazing  and  crackling  in  the  chimney  corner. 
Having  thus  secured  them,  I  returned  to  the  chalets, 
sent  them  bread,  butter,  cheese,  and  milk,  and  had  the 
exceeding  gratification  of  seeing  them  return  safe  and 
sound  to  the  hotel  next  morning. 

Soon  after  this  occurrence,  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
climbing  the  Jungfrau  with  Dr.  Hornby  and  Mr.  Phil- 
potts.  Christian  Aimer  and  Christian  Lauener  were 
our  guides.  The  rose  of  sunrise  had  scarcely  faded 
from  the  summit  when  we  reached  it.  I  have  sketched 
the  ascent  elsewhere,  and  therefore  will  not  refer  to  it 
further. 

On  my  return  from  the  ^Eggischhorn  in  1863,  I 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  445 

found  my  friend  Huxley  low  in  health  and  spirits.  I 
therefore  carried  him  off  to  the  hills  of  Cumberland. 
Swiss  scenery  was  so  recent  a  memory  that  it  was 
virtually  present,  and  I  had  therefore  an  opportunity 
of  determining  whether  it  interfered  with  the  enjoy- 
ment of  English  scenery.  I  did  not  find  this  to  be  the 
case.  I  hardly  ever  enjoyed  a  walk  more  than  that 
along  the  ridge  of  Fairfield,  from  Ambleside  to  Grise- 
dale  Tarn.  We  climbed  Helvellyn,  and,  thanks  to  the 
hospitality  of  a  party  on  the  top,  were  enabled  to  sur- 
vey the  mountain  without  the  intrusion  of  hunger.  We 
thought  it  noble.  Striding  Edge,  Swirling  Edge,  the 
Red  Tarn,  and  Catchedecarn,  combined  with  the  sum- 
mit to  form  a  group  of  great  grandeur.  The  storm 
was  strong  on  Striding  Edge,  which,  on  account  of  its 
associations,1  I  chose  for  my  descent,  while  the  better 
beaten  track  of  Swirling  Edge  was  chosen  by  my  more 
conservative  companion.  At  Ulles water  we  had  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  an  eminent  Church  dignitary  and 
his  two  charming  daughters.  They  desired  to  cross 
the  mountains  to  Lodore,  and  we,  though  ignorant  of 
the  way,  volunteered  our  guidance.  The  offer  was 
accepted.  We  made  a  new  pass  on  the  occasion,  which 
we  called  c  the  Dean's  Pass,'  the  scenery  and  incidents 
of  which  were  afterwards  illustrated  by  Huxley. 
Emerson,  who  is  full  of  wise  saws,  speaks  of  the  broad 
neutral  ground  which  may  be  occupied  to  their  common 
profit  by  men  of  diverse  habits  of  thought ;  and 
on  the  day  to  which  I  now  refer  there  seemed  no 
limit  to  the  intellectual  region  over  which  the  dean 
and  his  guides  could  roam  without  severance  or  col- 
lision. In  the  presence  of  these  peaks  and  meres, 

1  On  Striding  Edge  was  killed  the  traveller  whose  fate  suggested 
the  fine  elegy  of  Scott,  commencing, 

•  I  climbed  the  dark  brow  of  the  mighty  Helvellyn .* 


446  OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS. 

as  well  as  over  the  oatcake  of  our  luncheon,  we  were 
sharers  of  a  common  joy. 

The  gorges  of  the  Alps  interested  me  in  1864,  as 
the  question  of  their  origin  was  then  under  discussion. 
Having  heard  much  of  the  Via  Mala  as  an  example  of 
a  crack  produced  by  an  earthquake,  I  went  there,  and 
afterwards  examined  the  gorge  of  Pfeffers,  that  of 
Bergun,  the  Finsteraarschlucht,  and  several  others  of 
minor  note.  In  all  cases  I  arrived  at  the  same  con- 
clusion— namely,  that  earthquakes  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  production  of  these  wonderful  chasms,  but 
that  they  had  been  one  and  all  sawn  through  the  ro^ks 
by  running  water.  From  Tusis  I  crossed  the  beautiful 
Schien  Pass  to  Tiefenkasten,  and  went  thence  by  dili- 
gence over  the  Julier  to  Pontresiua. 

The  scenery  of  the  Engadin  stands  both  in  character 
and  position  between  that  of  Switzerland  and  the  Tyrol, 
combining  in  a  high  degree  the  grandeur  of  the  one 
and  the  beauty  of  the  other.  Pontresina  occupies  a 
fine  situation  on  the  Bernina  road,  at  about  6,000  feet 
above  the  sea.  From  the  windows  of  the  *  Krone '  you 
look  up  the  Rosegg  valley.  The  pines  are  large  and 
luxuriant  below,  but  they  dwindle  in  size  as  they  struggle 
up  the  heights,  until  they  are  cut  off  finally  either  by 
the  inclemency  of  the  air  or  the  scantiness  of  their  proper 
atmospheric  food.  From  the  earth  itself  these  trees 
derive  but  an  infinitesimal  portion  of  their  supplies,  as 
may  be  seen  by  the  barrenness  of  the  rocks  on  which 
they  flourish,  and  which  they  use  almost  exclusively  as 
supports  to  lift  their  branches  into  the  nutritive  atmo- 
sphere. The  valley  ends  in  the  Rosegg  glacier,  which 
is  fed  by  the  snows  of  a  noble  group  of  mountains. 

The  baths  of  St.  Moritz  are  about  an  hour  distant 
from  Pontresina.  Here  every  summer  hundreds  of 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTING&  447 

Swiss  and  Germans,  and  an  increasing  number  of 
English,  congregate.  The  water  contains  carbonic  acid 
(the  gas  of  soda  water)  and  a  trace  of  sulphate  of  iron 
(copperas) ;  this  the  visitors  drink,  and  in  elongated 
tubs  containing  it  they  submerge  themselves.  A 
curious  effect  is  produced  by  the  collection  and  escape 
of  innumerable  bubbles  of  carbonic  acid  from  the  skin. 
Every  bubble  on  detaching  itself  produces  a  little  twitch, 
and  hence  a  sort  of  prickly  sensation  experienced  in  the 
water.  The  patients  at  St.  Moritz  put  me  in  mind  of 
that  Eastern  prince  whose  physician  induced  him  to 
kick  a  football  under  the  impression  that  it  contained 
a  charm.  The  sagacious  doctor  knew  that  faith  has  a 
dynamic  power  unpossessed  by  knowledge.  Through 
the  agency  of  this  power  he  stirred  the  prince  to  action, 
caused  him  to  take  wholesome  exercise,  and  thus  cured 
him  of  his  ailments.  At  St.  Moritz  the  water  is  pro- 
bably the  football — the  air  and  exercise  on  these  windy 
heights  being  in  most  cases  the  real  curative  agents. 
The  dining-room  of  the  Kurhaus,  when  Professor  Hirst 
and  I  were  there,  was  filled  with  guests :  every  window 
was  barred,  while  down  the  chilled  panes  streamed  the 
condensed  vapour  of  respiration.  The  place  and  com- 
pany illustrated  the  power  of  habit  to  modify  the 
human  constitution ;  for  it  was  through  habit  that 
these  Swiss  and  German  people  extracted  a  pleasurable 
existence  out  of  an  atmosphere  which  threatened  with 
asphyxia  the  better- ventilated  Englishman. 

There  was  a  general  understanding  between  Hirst 
and  myself  that  we  should  this  year  meet  at  Pontresina, 
and  without  concert  as  to  the  day  both  of  us  reached 
the  village  within  the  same  quarter  ot  an  hour.  Some 
theoretic  points  of  glacier  motion  requiring  elucida- 
tion, we  took  the  necessary  instruments  with  us  to  the 
Engadin  ;  we  also  carried  with  us  a  quantity  of  other 


448  OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS. 

work,  but  our  first  care  was  to  dissipate  the  wrecked 
tissues  of  our  bodies,  and  to  supply  their  place  by  new 
material. 

Twenty-four  years  ago  Mayer,  of  Heilbronn,  with 
that  power  of  genius  which  breathes  large  meanings 
into  scanty  facts,  pointed  out  that  the  blood  was  *  the 
oil  of  life,'  and  that  muscular  effort  was,  in  the  main, 
supported  by  the  combustion  of  this  oil.  The  recent  re- 
searchesxrf  eminent  men  prove  the  soundness  of  Mayer's 
induction.  The  muscles  are  the  machinery  by  which  the 
power  of  the  food  is  brought  into  action.  Nevertheless, 
the  whole  body,  though  more  slowly  than  the  blood, 
wastes  also.  How  is  the  sense  of  personal  identity 
maintained  across  this  flight  of  molecules?  As  far  as 
my  experience  goes,  matter  is  necessary  to  conscious- 
ness, but  the  matter  of  any  period  may  be  all  changed, 
while  consciousness  exhibits  no  solution  of  continuity. 
The  oxygen  that  departs  seems  to  whisper  its  secret 
to  the  oxygen  that  arrives,  and  thus,  while  the  Non- 
ego  shifts  and  changes,  the  Ego  remains  intact.  Con- 
stancy of  form  in  the  grouping  of  the  molecules,  and 
not  constancy  of  the  molecules  themselves,  is  the  corre- 
lative of  this  constancy  of  perception.  Life  is  a  wave 
which  in  no  two  consecutive  moments  of  its  existence 
is  composed  of  the  same  particles. 

The  ancient  lake-beds  of  the  Alps  bear  directly  upon 
those  theories  of  erosion  and  convulsion  which,  in  1864, 
were  subjects  of  geologic  discussion.  They  are  to  be 
found  in  almost  every  Alpine  valley,  each  consisting  of 
a  level  plain  formed  by  sediment,  with  a  barrier  below 
it,  which  once  constituted  the  dam  of  the  lake.  These 
barriers  are  now  cut  through,  a  river  in  each  case  flow- 
ing through  the  gap.  How  cut  through  ?  was  one  of 
the  problems  afloat  five  or  six  years  ago.  Some  supposed 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  449 

that  the  chn?ms  were  cracks  produced  by  earthquakes  ; 
and  if  only  one  or  two  of  them  existed,  this  hypothesis 
might  perhaps  postpone  that  closer  examination  which 
infallibly  explodes  it.  But  such  chasms  exist  by  hun- 
dreds in  the  Alps,  and  we  could  not  without  absurdity 
invoke  in  each  case  the  aid  of  an  earthquake  to  split 
the  dam  and  drain  the  waters.  Near  Pontresina  there 
is  a  good  example  of  a  rocky  barrier  with  a  lake-bed 
behind  it,  while,  within  the  hearing  of  the  village,  a 
river  rushes  through  a  chasm  which  intersects  the 
barrier.  I  have  often  -stood  upon  the  bridge  which 
spans  this  gorge,  and  have  clearly  seen  the  marks  of 
aqueous  erosion  from  its  bottom  to  its  top.  The  rock 
is  not  of  a  character  to  preserve  the  finer  traces  of 
water  action,  but  the  larger  scoopings  and  holiowings 
are  quite  manifest.  Like  all  others  that  I  have  seen, 
it  is  a  chasm  of  erosion. 

The  same  idea  may  be  extended  to  the  Alps  them- 
selves. This  land  was  once  beneath  the  sea,  and  from 
the  moment  of  its  first  emergence  from  the  waters  until 
now,  it  has  felt  incessantly  the  tooth  of  erosion.  No 
doubt  the  strains  and  pressures  brought  into  play  when 
the  crust  was  uplifted  produced  fissures  and  contor- 
tions, which  gave  direction  to  ice  and  water,  the  real 
moulders  of  the  Alps.  When  "the  eye  has  been  educated 
on  commanding  eminences  to  take  in  large  tracts  of 
the  mountains,  and  when  the  mind  has  become  capable 
of  resisting  the  tendency  to  generalise  from  exceptional 
cases,  conjecture  grows  by  degrees  into  conviction  that 
no  other  known  agents  than  ice  and  water  could  have 
given  the  Alps  their  present  forms.  The  plains  at  their 
feet,  moreover,  are  covered  by  the  chips  resulting  from 
their  sculpture.  Were  they  correctly  modelled  so  as  to 
bring  their  heights  and  inclinations  in  just  proportions 
immediately  under  the  eye,  this  undoubtedly  is  tba 


450  OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS. 

coDviction  that  would  first  force  itself  upon  the  mind, 
An  inspection  of  some  of  the  models  in  the  Jermyn 
Street  Museum  will  in  part  illustrate  my  meaning. 

In  connection  with  this  question  of  mountain  sculp- 
ture, the  sand-cones  of  the  glaciers  are  often  instruc- 
tive. The  Aletsch,  Unteraar,  and  Gorner  glaciers 
present  numerous  cases  of  the  kind.  On  July  20. 1864, 
I  came  upon  a  fine  group  of  such  cones  upon  the  Mor- 
teratsch  glacier.  They  were  perfect  models  of  the  Alp'. 
I  could  find  among  them  a  reduced  copy  of  almost 
every  mountain  with  which  I  am  acquainted.  One  of 
them  showed  the  peaks  of  the  Mischabel  to  perfection. 
How  are  these  miniature  mountains  produced  ?  Thus : 
sand  is  strewn  by  a  stream  upon  the  glacier,  and  begins 
immediately  to  protect  the  ice  underneath  it  from  the 
action  of  the  sun.  The  surrounding  ice  melts  away, 
and  the  sand  is  relatively  elevated.  But  the  elevation 
is  not  mathematically  uniform,  for  the  sand  is  not  of 
the  same  depth  throughout.  Some  portions  rise  higher 
than  others.  Down  the  slopes  little  rills  trickle,  par- 
tially removing  the  sand  and  allowing  the  sun  to  act  to 
some  extent  upon  the  ice.  Thus  the  highest  point  is 
kept  in  possession  of  the  thickest  covering,  and  it  rises 
continually  in  reference  to  the  circumjacent  ice.  All 
round  it,  however,  as  it  rises,  the  little  rills  are  at  work 
cutting  the  ice  away  and  aiding  the  action  of  the  sun, 
until  finally  the  elevated  hump  is  wrought  into  hills 
and  valleys  which  seem  a  mimicry  of  the  Alps  them- 
selves. 

There  is  a  grandeur  in  the  secular  integration  of 
small  effects  here  adverted  to  almost  superior  to  that 
involved  in  the  idea  of  a  cataclysm.  Think  of  the  ages 
which  must  have  been  consumed  in  the  execution  of 
this  colossal  Alpine  sculpture !  The  question  may,  of 
course,  be  pushed  to  further  limits  :  Think  of  the  ages, 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  451 

it  may  be  asked,  which  the  molten  earth  required  for 
its  consolidation  1  But  these  vaster  epochs  lack  sub- 
limity through  our  inability  to  grasp  them.  They  be- 
wilder us,  but  they  fail  to  make  a  solemn  impression. 
The  genesis  of  the  mountains  comes  more  within  the 
scope  of  the  intellect,  and  the  majesty  of  the  operation 
is  enhanced  by  our  partial  ability  to  conceive  it.  In 
the  falling  of  a  rock  from  a  mountain-head,  in  the  shoot 
of  an  avalanche,  in  the  plunge  of  a  cataract,  we  often 
see  a  more  impressive  illustration  of  the  power  of  gra- 
vity than  in  the  motions  of  the  stars.  When  the  intel- 
lect has  to  intervene,  and  calculation  is  necessary  to 
the  building  up  of  the  conception,  the  expansion  of  the 
feelings  ceases  to  be  proportional  to  the  magnitude  of 
the  phenomena. 

The  Piz  Languard  is  called  a  ladies'  mountain, 
though  it  is  11,000  feet  high.  I  climbed  it  on  July 
2.%  and  a  very  grand  outlook  it  affords.  The  heavens 
overhead  were  clear,  but  in  some  directions  the  scowl 
of  the  infernal  regions  seemed  to  fall  upon  the  hills. 
The  group  of  the  Bernina  was  in  sunshine,  and  its 
glory  and  beauty  are  not  to  be  described.  The  depth 
of  impressions  upon  consciousness  is  measured  by  the 
quantity  of  change  which  they  involve.  It  is  the 
intermittent  current,  not  the  continuous  one,  that 
tetanises  the  nerve,  and  half  the  interest  of  the  Alps 
depends  upon  the  caprices  of  the  air. 

The  Morteratsch  glacier  is  a  very  noble  one  to  those 
who  explore  it  in  its  higher  parts.  Its  middle  portion 
is  troubled  and  crevassed,  but  the  calm  beauty  of  its 
upper  portions  is  rendered  doubly  impressive  by  the 
turbulence  encountered  midway.  Into  this  region, 
without  expecting  it,  Hirst  and  myself  entered  one 
Sunday  in  July,  and  explored  it  up  to  the  riven  and 


452  OLD  ALPIXE  JOTTINGS. 

chaotic  snows  which  descend  from  the  Piz  Bernina  and 
its  companions.  The  mountains  themselves  were  with- 
out a  cloud,  and,  set  in  the  blue  heaven,  touches  of 
tenderness  were  mingled  with  their  strength.  We 
spent  some  hours  of  perfect  enjoyment  upon  this  fine 
ice-plain,  listening  to  the  roar  of  its  mouliris  and  the 
rush  of  its  streams. 

Along  the  centre  of  the  Morteratsch  glacier  runs  a 
medial  moraine,  a  narrow  strip  of  debris  in  the  upper 
portions,  hut  overspreading  the  entire  glacier  towards 
its  end.  How  is  this  widening  of  the  moraine  to  be 
accounted  for  ?  Hirst  and  I  set  out  three  different  rows 
of  stakes  across  the  glacier ;  one  of  them  high  up,  a 
second  lower  down,  and  a  third  still  nearer  to  the  end 
of  the  glacier.  In  100  hours  the  central  points  of  these 
three  lines  had  moved  through  the  following  distances  : 

No.  1,  highest  line,  56  inches. 
„    2,  middle    „      47      „ 
„    3,  lowest     „      30      „ 

Had  we  taken  a  line  still  lower  than  No.  3,  we  should 
have  found  the  velocity  still  less. 

Now  these  measurements  prove  that  the  end,  or  as 
it  is  sometimes  called  the  snout,  of  the  glacier  moves 
far  less  quickly  than  its  upper  portions.  A  block  of 
stone,  or  a  patch  of  debris,  for  example,  on  the  portion 
of  the  glacier  crossed  by  line  No.  1 ,  approaches  another 
block  or  patch  at  No.  3  with  a  velocity  of  26  inches 
per  100  hours.  Hence  such  blocks  and  patches  must 
be  more  and  more  crowded  together  as  the  end  of  the 
glacier  is  approached,  and  hence  the  greater  accumu- 
lation of  stones  and  debris  near  the  end.1 

1  Above  the  Miirgelin  See  the  centre  of  the  Aletsch  glacier  mores 
at  the  rate  of  19  inches  a  day.  A  mile  or  so  above  the  Bel  Alp 
the  velocity  is  16  inches  a  day.  Opposite  the  Bel  Alp  Hotel  it 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  453 

And  here  we  meet  point-blank  an  objection  raised 
by  that  very  distinguished  man,  Professor  Studer,  of 
Berne,  to  the  notion  that  the  glacier  exerts  an  erosive 
action  on  its  bed.  He  urges  that  at  the  ends  of  the 
glaciers  of  Chainouni,  of  Arolla,  Ferpecle,  and  the  Aar, 
we  do  not  see  any  tendency  exhibited  by  the  glacier  to 
bury  itself  in  the  soil.  The  reason  is,  that  at  the  point 
chosen  by  Professor  Studer  the  glacier  is  almost  sta- 
tionary. To  observe  the  ploughing  or  erosive  action 
of  the  ice  we  must  observe  it  where  the  share  is  in 
motion,  and  not  where  it  is  comparatively  at  rest.  In- 
deed, the  snout  of  the  glacier  often  rests  upon  the  rub- 
bish which  its  higher  portions  have  dug  away. 

While  I  was  staying  at  Pontresina,  Mr.  Hutchinson 
of  Kugby,  Mr.  Lee  Warner,  and  myself  joined  in  a  me- 
morable expedition  up  the  Piz  Morteratsch.  This  is  a 
very  noble  mountain,  and  nobody  had  previously  thought 
of  associating  the  idea  of  danger  with  its  ascent.  The 
resolute  Jenni,  by  far  the  boldest  man  in  Pontresina, 
was  my  guide;  while  Walter,  the  official  guide  chef, 
was  taken  by  my  companions.  With  a  dubious  sky 
overhead,  we  started  on  the  morning  of  July  30,  a  little 
after  4  A.M.  There  is  rarely  much  talk  at  the  begin- 
ning of  a  mountain  excursion  :  you  are  either  sleepy  or 
'solemn  so  early  in  the  day.  Silently  we  passed  through 
the  pine- woods  of  the  beautiful  Eosegg  valley  ;  watching 
anxiously  at  intervals  the  play  of  the  clouds  around  the 
adjacent  heights.  At  one  place  a  spring  gushed  from 
the  valley  bottom  as  clear  and  almost  as  copious  as  that 
which  pours  out  the  full-formed  river  Albula.  The 
traces  of  ancient  glaciers  were  present  everywhere,  the 

is  about  8  inches  a  day ;  while  the  measured  velocity  near  its  end 
is  only  2  inches  a  day.  As  in  the  case  of  the  Morteiatsch,  tli« 
moraiue  quite  covers  the  lower  portion  of  the  glacier. 


454  OLD  AJLPINE  JOTTINGS, 

valley  being  thickly  covered  with  the  debris  which  the 
ice  had  left  behind.  An  old  moraine,  so  large  that  in 
England  it  might  take  rank  as  a  mountain,  forms  a 
barrier  across  the  upper  valley.  Once  probably  it  was 
the  darn  of  a  lake,  but  it  is  now  cut  through  by  the 
river  which  rushes  from  the  Kosegg  glacier.  These 
works  of  the  ancient  ice  are  to  the  mind  what  a  distant 
horizon  is  to  the  eye.  They  give  to  the  imagination 
both  pleasure  and  repose. 

The  morning,  as  I  have  said,  looked  threatening, 
but  the  wind  was  good  ;  by  degrees  the  cloud  scowl  re- 
laxed, and  broader  patches  of  blue  became  visible. 
We  called  at  the  Eosegg  chalets,  and  had  some  milk, 
afterwards  winding  round  a  shoulder  of  the  hill,  at 
times  upon  the  moraine  of  the  glacier,  at  times  upon 
the  adjacent  grass  slope ;  then  over  shingly  inclines, 
covered  with  the  shot  rubbish  of  the  heights.  Two 
ways  were  now  open  to  us,  the  one  easy  but  cir- 
cuitous, the  other  stiff  but  short.  Walter  was  for  the 
former,  and  Jenni  for  the  latter,  their  respective  choices 
being  characteristic  of  the  two  men.  To  my  satisfac- 
tion Jenni  prevailed,  and  we  scaled  the  steep  and 
slippery  rocks.  At  the  top  of  them  we  found  ourselves 
upon  the  rim  of  an  extended  snow-field.  Our  rope  waa 
here  exhibited,  and  we  were  bound  by  it  to  a  common 
destiny.  In  those  higher  regions  the  snow-fields 
show  a  beauty  and  a  purity  of  which  those  who  linger 
below  have  no  notion.  We  crossed  crevasses  and 
bergschrunds,  mounted  vast  snow-bosses,  and  doubled 
round  walls  of  ice  with  long  stalactites  pendent  from 
their  cornices.  One  by  one  the  eminences  were  sur- 
mounted, the  crowning  rock  being  attained  at  half- 
past  twelve.  On  it  we  uncorked  a  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne. Mixed  with  the  pure  snow  of  the  mountain, 
it  formed  a  beverage,  and  was  enjoyed  with  a  gusto, 


OT.T)   ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  455 

which  the  sybarite  of  the  city  could  neither  imitate  nor 
share. 

We  spent  about  an  hour  upon  the  warm  gneiss-blocks 
on  the  top.  Veils  of  cloud  screened  us  at  intervals 
from  the  sun,  and  then  we  felt  the  keenness  of  the  air; 
but  in  general  we  were  cheered  and  comforted  by  the 
solar  light  and  warmth.  The  shiftings  of  the  atmo- 
sphere were  wonderful.  The  white  peaks  were  draped 
with  opalescent  clouds  which  never  lingered  for  two 
consecutive  minutes  in  the  same  position.  Clouds  differ 
widely  from  each  other  in  point  of  beauty,  but  I  had 
hardly  ever  seen  them  more  beautiful  than  they  ap- 
peared to-day,  while  the  succession  of  surprises  expe- 
rienced through  their  changes  were  such  as  rarely  fall 
to  the  lot  even  of  a  practised  mountaineer. 

These  clouds  are  for  the  most  part  produced  by  the 
chilling  of  the  air  through  its  own  expansion.  When 
thus  chilled,  the  aqueous  vapour  diffused  through  it, 
which  is  previously  unseen,  is  precipitated  in  visible 
particles.  Every  particle  of  the  cloud  has  consumed 
in  its  formation  a  little  polyhedron  of  vapour,  and  a 
moment's  reflection  will  make  it  clear  that  the  size  of 
the  cloud-particles  must  depend,  not  only  on  the  size 
of  the  vapour  polyhedron,  but  on  the  relation  of  the 
density  of  the  vapour  to  that  of  its  liquid.  If  the 
vapour  were  light  and  the  liquid  heavy,  other  things 
I  eing  equal,  the  cloud  particle  would  be  smaller  than 
if  the  vapour  were  heavy  and  the  liquid  light.  There 
would  evidently  be  more  shrinkage  in  the  one  case 
than  in  the  other.  Now  there  are  various  liquids  whose 
weight  is  not  greater  than  that  of  water,  while  the 
weight  of  their  vapour,  bulk  for  bulk,  is  five  or  six 
times  that  of  aqueous  vapour.  When  those  heavy 
vapours  are  precipitated  as  clouds,  which  is  easily  done 
artificially,  their  particles  are  found  to  be  far  coarser 


456  OLD   ALPINE  JOTTINGS. 

than  those  of  an  aqueous  cloud.  Indeed,  water  is 
without  a  parallel  in  this  particular.  Its  vapour  is  the 
lightest  of  all  vapours,  and  to  this  fact  the  soft  and 
tender  beauty  of  the  clouds  of  our  atmosphere  is 
mainly  due.1 

After  an  hour's  halt,  our  rope,  of  which  we  had 
temporarily  rid  ourselves,  was  reproduced,  and  the  de- 
scent began.  Jenni  is  the  most  daring  man  'and 
powerful  character  among  the  guides  of  Pontresina. 
The  manner  in  which  he  bears  down  all  the  others  in 
conversation,  and  imposes  his  own  will  upon  them, 
shows  that  he  is  the  dictator  of  the  place.  He  is  a 
large  and  rather  an  ugly  man,  and  his  progress  up- 
hill, though  resistless,  is  slow.  He  had  repeatedly 
expressed  a  wish  to  make  an  excursion  with  me,  and  I 
think  he  desired  to  show  us  what  he  could  do  upon 
the  mountains.  To-day  he  accomplished  two  daring 
things — the  one  successfully,  while  the  other  was  within 
a  hair's-breadth  of  a  very  shocking  end. 

In  descending  we  went  straight  down  upon  a  berg- 
schrund,  which  compelled  us  to  make  a  circuit  in 
coming  up.  This  particular  kind  of  fissure  is  formed 
by  the  lower  portion  of  a  snow-slope  falling  away  from 
the  higher,  a  crevasse  being  thus  formed  between  the 
two,  which  often  surrounds  the  mountain  as  a  fosse  of 
great  depth.  Walter  was  here  the  first  of  our  party,  and 
Jenni  was  the  last.  It  was  quite  evident  that  Walter 
hesitated  to  cross  the  chasm ;  but  Jenni  came  forward, 
and  half  by  expostulation,  half  by  command,  caused 
him  to  sit  down  on  the  snow  at  some  height  above  the 
fissure.  I  think,  moreover,  he  helped  him  with  a 

1  Since  this  was  written  Mr.  Sinclair  has  greatly  augmented  our 
knowledge  of  cloud-formation.  By  a  series  of  striking  experiments 
he  has  shown  the  part  played  by  solid  nuclei  in  the  act  of  precipi- 
tation. 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  457 

shove.  At  all  events  the  slope  was  so  steep  that  the 
guide  shot  down  it  with  an  impetus  sufficient  to  carry 
him  clear  over  the  schrund.  We  all  afterwards  shot 
the  chasm  in  this  pleasant  way.  Jenni  was  behind. 
Deviating  from  our  track,  he  deliberately  chose  the 
widest  part  of  the  chasm,  and  shot  over  it,  lumbering 
"like  behemoth  down  the  snow-slope  at  the  other  side. 
It  was  an  illustration  of  that  practical  knowledge  which 
long  residence  among  the  mountains  can  alone  im- 
part, and  in  the  possession  of  which  our  best  English 
climbers  fall  far  behind  their  guides. 

The  remaining  steep  slopes  were  also  descended  by 
glissade,  and  we  afterwards  marched  cheerily  over  the 
gentler  inclines.  We  had  ascended  by  the  Kosegg 
glacier,  and  now  we  wished  to  descend  upon  the  Mor- 
teratsch  glacier  and  make  it  our  highway  home.  It 
was  while  attempting  this  descent  that  we  were  com- 
mitted to  that  ride  upon  the  back  of  an  avalanche,  a 
description  of  which  is  given  in  the  *  Times  '  newspaper 
for  October  1,  1864.1 

In  July  1865  my  friend  Hirst  and  myself  visited 
Glarus,  intending,  if  circumstances  favoured  us,  to 
climb  the  Todi.  Checked  by  the  extravagant  demands 
of  the  guides,  we  gave  the  expedition  up.  Crossing 
the  Klausen  pass  to  Altdorf,  we  ascended  the  Gotthardt 
Strasse  to  Wasen,  and  went  thence  over  the  Susten 
pass  to  Gadmen,  which  we  reached  late  at  night.  We 
halted  for  a  moment  at  Stein,  but  the  blossom  of  1863 
was  no  longer  there  and  we  did  not  tarry.  Before 
quitting  Gadmen  next  morning  I  was  accosted  by  a 
guide,  who  asked  me  whether  I  knew  Professor  Tyndall. 
4  He  is  killed,  sir,'  said  the  man ;  *  killed  upon  the 
Mutterhorn.'  I  then  listened  to  a  somewhat  detailed 
1  See  also  A!j>ine  Journal,  vol.  i.  p.  437. 


459  OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS. 

account  of  my  own  destruction,  and  soon  gathered  that 
though  the  details  were  erroneous  something  serioua 
had  occurred.  At  Imhof  the  rumour  became  more 
consistent,  and  immediately  afterwards  the  Matter- 
horn  catastrophe  was  in  every  mouth  and  in  all  the 
newspapers.  My  friend  and  myself  wandered  on  to 
Miirren,  whence,  after  an  ineffectual  attempt  to  cross  the 
Petersgrat,  we  went  by  Kandersteg  and  the  Oremmi  to 
Zermatt. 

Of  the  four  sufferers  killed  on  the  Matterhorn,  one 
remained  behind.  But  expressed  in  terms  either  of 
mental  toiture  or  physical  pain,  the  suffering  in  my 
opinion  was  nil.  Excitement  during  the  first  moments 
left  no  room  for  terror,  and  immediate  unconsciousness 
prevented  pain.  No  death  has  probably  less  of  agony 
in  it  than  that  caused  by  a  fall  upon  a  mountain. 
Expected  it  would  be  terrible,  but  unexpected,  not.  I 
had  heard,  however,  of  other  griefs  and  sufferings  con- 
sequent on  the  accident,  and  this  prompted  a  desire 
on  my  part  to  find  the  remaining  One  and  bring  him 
down.  I  had  seen  the  road-makers  at  work  between 
St.  Nicholas  and  Zermatt,  and  was  struck  by  the 
rapidity  with  which  they  pierced  the  rocks  for  blasting. 
One  of  these  fellows  could  drive  a  hole  a  foot  deep 
into  hard  granite  in  less  than  an  hour.  I  was  there- 
fore determined  to  secure  in  aid  of  my  project  the 
services  of  a  road-maker.  None  of  the  Zermatt  guides 
would  ?econd  me,  but  I  found  one  of  the  Lochmatters 
of  St.  Nicholas  willing  to  do  so.  Him  I  sent  to  Geneva 
to  buy  3,000  feet  of  rope,  which  duly  came  on  heavily- 
laden  mules  to  Zermatt.  Hammers  and  steel  punches 
were  prepared  ;  a  tent  was  put  in  order,  and  the  appa- 
ratus was  carried  up  to  the  chapel  by  the  Schwartz-See. 
But  the  weather  would  by  no  means  smile  upon  the 
undertaking.  I  waited  in  Zermatt  for  twenty  days, 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  450 

making,  it  is  true,  pleasant  excursions  with  pleasant 
friends,  but  these  merely  spanned  the  brief  intervals 
which  separated  one  rain-gush  or  thunder.-torm  from 
another.  Bound  by  an  engagement  to  my  friend  Pro- 
fessor De  la  Eive,  of  Geneva,  where  the  Swiss  savants 
had  their  annual  assembly  in  1865,  I  was  forced  to 
leave  Zermatt.  My  notion  had  been  to  climb  to  the 
point  where  the  men  slipped,  and  to  fix  there  suitable 
irons  in  the  rocks.  By  means  of  ropes  attached  to  these 
I  proposed  to  scour  the  mountain  along  the  line  of  the 
glissade.  There  were  peculiarities  of  detail  which  need 
not  now  be  dwelt  upon,  inasmuch  as  the  weather  ren- 
dered them  all  futile. 

In  the  summer  of  I860  I  first  went  to  Engsteln, 
one  of  the  most  charming  spots  in  the  Alps.  It  had 
at  that  time  a  double  charm,  for  the  handsome  young 
widow  who  kept  the  inn  supplemented  by  her  kind- 
ness and  attention  within  doors  the  pleasures  of  the 
outer  world.  A  man  named  Maurer,  of  Meyringen, 
was  my  guide  for  a  time.  We  climbed  the  Titlis, 
going  straight  up  it  from  the  Joch  pass,  in  the  track 
of  a  scampering  chamois  which  showed  us  the  way. 
The  Titlis  is  a  very  noble  mass — one  of  the  few  which, 
while  moderate  in  height,  bear  a  lordly  weight  of  snow. 
The  view  from  the  summit  is  exceedingly  fine,  and  on 
it  I  repeated  with  a  hand  spectroscope  the  observations 
of  M.  Janssen  on  the  absorption-bands  of  aqueous 
vapour.  On  the  day  after  this  ascent  I  quitted  Eng- 
steln, being  drawn  towards  the  Wellborn  and  Wetter- 
horn,  both  of  which  as  seen  from  Engsteln  came  out 
nobly.  The  upper  dome  of  heaven  was  of  the  deepest 
blue,  while  only  the  faintest  lightening  of  the  colour 
towards  the  horizon  indicated  the  augmented  turbidity 
of  the  atmosphere  in  that  direction.  The  sun  was 

30 


460  OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS. 

very  hot,  Lut  there  was  a  clear  rivulet  at  hand,  deepen- 
ing here  and  there  into  pebbled  pools,  into  which  I 
plunged  at  intervals,  causing  my  guide  surprise,  if  not 
anxiety.  For  he  shared  the  common  superstition  that 
plunging,  when  hot,  into  cold  water  is  dangerous.  The 
danger,  and  a  very  serious  one  it  is,  is  to  plunge  into 
cold  water  when  cold.  The  strongest  alone  can  then 
bear  immersion  without  damage. 

This  year  I  subjected  the  famous  Fiusteraarschlucht 
to  a  close  examination.  The  earthquake  theory  already 
adverted  to  was  prevalent  regarding  it,  and  I  wished  to 
see  whether  any  evidences  existed  of  aqueous  erosion. 
It  will  be  remembered  that  the  Schlucht  or  gorge  is  cut 
through  a  great  barrier  of  limestone  rock  called  the 
Kirchet,  which  throws  itself  across  the  valley  of  Hasli, 
about  three-quarters  of  an  hour's  walk  above  Meyringen. 
The  plain  beyond  the  barrier,  on  which  stands  the 
hamlet  of  Imhof,  is  formed  by  the  sediment  of  an 
ancient  lake  of  which  the  Kirchet  constituted  the  dam. 
This  dam  is  now  cut  through  for  the  passage  of  the  Aar, 
forming  one  of  the  noblest  gorges  in  Switzerland.  Near 
the  summit  of  the  Kirchet  is  a  house  with  a  signboard 
inviting  the  traveller  to  visit  the  Aarenschlucht,  a 
narrow  lateral  gorge  which  runs  down  to  the  very  bottom 
of  the  principal  one.  The  aspect  of  this  smaller  chasm 
from  its  bottom  to  its  top  proves  to  demonstration  that 
water  had  in  former  ages  worked  there  as  a  navigator. 
But  it  was  regarding  the  sides  of  the  great  chasm  that 
I  needed  instruction,  and  from  its  edge  I  could  see 
nothing  to  satisfy  me.  I  therefore  stripped  and  waded 
until  a  point  was  reached  in  the  centre  of  the  river 
which  commanded  an  excellent  view  of  both  sides  of 
the  gorge.  Below  me,  on  the  left-hand  side,  was  a 
jutting  cliff,  which  caused  the  Aar  to  swerve  from  its 
direct  coirse,  and  had  to  bear  the  thrust  of  the  river. 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  461 

From  top  to  bottom  this  cliff  was  polished,  rounded, 
and  scooped.  There  was  no  room  for  doubt.  The  river 
which  now  runs  so  deeply  down  had  once  been  above. 
It  has  been  the  delver  of  its  own  channel  through  the 
barrier  of  the  Kirchet. 

I  went  on  to  Rosenlaui,  proposing  to  climb  the 
neighbouring  mountains  in  succession.  In  fact,  I  went 
to  Switzerland  in  1866  with  a  particular  hunger  for  the 
heights.  But  the  weather  thickened  before  Eosenlaui 
was  reached,  and  on  the  night  following  the  morning  of 
my  departure  from  Engsteln  I  lay  upon  my  plaid  under 
an  impervious  pine,  and  watched  as  wild  a  thunderstorm 
and  as  heavy  a  downpour  of  rain  as  I  had  ever  seen. 
Most  extraordinary  was  the  flicker  on  cliffs  and  trees, 
and  most  tremendous  was  the  detonation  succeeding 
each  discharge.  The  fine  weather  came  thus  to  an 
end,  and  next  day  I  gave  up  the  Wetterhorn  for  the 
ignoble  Faulhorn.  Here  the  wind  changed,  the  air 
became  piercingly  cold,  and  on  the  following  morning 
heavy  Know-drifts  buttrefsed  the  doors,  windows,  and 
walls  of  the  inn.  We  broke  away,  sinking  at  some 
places  to  the  hips  in  snow.  A  thousand  feet  made  all 
the  difference;  a  descent  of  this  amount  carrying  us 
from  the  bleakest  winter  into  genial  summer.  My  com- 
panion held  on  to  the  beaten  track,  while  I  sought  a 
rougher  and  more  direct  one  to  the  Scheinigeplatte. 
We  were  solitary  visitors  there,  and  I  filled  the  evening 
with  the  '  Story  of  Elizabeth,'  which  some  benevolent 
traveller  had  left  at  the  hotel. 

Thence  we  dropped  down  to  Lauterbrunnen,  went 
up  the  valley  to  the  little  inn  at  Trechslawinen,.and 
crossed  the  Petersgrat  the  following  day.  The  recent 
precipitation  had  cleared  the  heavens  and  reloaded  the 
heights.  It  was  perhaps  the  splendour  of  the  weather 
and  purity  of  the  snows,  aided  by  the  subjective  effect 


462  OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS. 

due  to  contrast  with  a  series  of  most  dismal  days,  that 
made  me  think  the  Petersgrat  so  noble  a  standpoint  for 
a  view  of  the  mountains.  The  horizontal  extent  was 
vast,  and  the  grouping  magnificent.  The  undouLted 
monarch  of  this  unparagoned  scene  was  the  Weisshorn. 
At"  Flatten  we  found  shelter  in  the  house  of  the  cure. 
Next  day  we  crossed  the  Lotschsattel,  and  swept  round 
by  the  Aletsch  glacier  to  the  /55ggiscbhorn. 

Here  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  a  very  ardent 
climber,  who  entertains  peculiar  notions  regarding 
guides.  He  deems  them,  with  good  reason,  very  expen- 
sive, and  he  also  feels  pleasure  in  trying  his  own  powers. 
I  would  admonish  him  that  he  may  go  too  far  in  this  di- 
rection, and  probably  his  own  experience  has  by  this  time 
forestalled  the  admonition.  Still,  there  is  much  in  his  feel- 
ing which  challenges  sympathy;  for  if  skill,  courage,  and 
strength  are  things  to  be  cultivated  in  the  Alps,  they 
are,  within  certain  limits,  best  exercised  and  developed 
in  the  absence  of  guides.  And  if  the  real  climbers  are 
ever  to  be  differentiated  from  the  crowd,  it  is  only  to  be 
done  by  dispensing  with  professional  assistance.  But 
no  man  without  natural  aptitude  and  due  training 
would  be  justified  in  undertaking  anything  of  this  kind, 
and  it  is  an  error  to  suppose  that  the  necessary  know- 
ledge can  be  obtained  in  one  or  two  summers  in  the 
Alps.  Climbing  is  an  art,  and  those  who  wish  to  culti- 
vate it  on  their  own  account  ought  to  give  themselves 
sufficient  previous  practice  in  the  company  of  first-rate 
guides.  This  would  not  shut  out  expeditions  of  minor 
danger  now  and  then  without  guides.  But  whatever  be 
the  amount  of  preparation,  real  climbers  must  still  re- 
main select  men.  Here,  as  in  every  other  sphere  of  human 
action  whether  intellectual  or  physical,  as  indeed  among 
the  guides  themselves,  real  eminence  falls  only  to  the 
lot  of  few. 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  463 

From  the  Bel  Alp,  in  company  with  Mr.  Girdle- 
stone,  I  made  an  attack  upon  the  Aletschhorn.  We 
failed.  The  weather  as  we  started  was  undecided,  but 
we  hoped  the  turn  might  be  in  our  favour.  We  first 
kept  along  the  Alp,  with  the  Jaggi  glacier  to  our  right, 
then  crossed  its  moraine,  and  made  the  trunk  glacier 
our  highway  until  we  reached  the  point  of  confluence 
of  its  branches.  Here  we  turned  to  the  right,  the 
Aletschhorn  from  base  to  summit  coming  into  view. 
We  reached  the  true  base  of  the  mountain,  and  without 
halting  breasted  its  snow.  But  as  we  climbed  the 
atmosphere  thickened  more  and  more.  About  the  Nest- 
horn  the  horizon  deepened  to  pitchy  darkness,  and  ou 
the  Aletschhorn  itself  hung  a  cloud  which  we  at  first 
hoped  would  melt  before  the  strengthening  sun,  but 
which  instead  of  melting  became  denser.  Now  and 
then  an  echoing  rumble  of  the  wind  warned  us  that  we 
might  expect  rough  handling  above.  We  persisted, 
however,  and  reached  a  considerable  height,  unwilling 
to  admit  that  the  weather  was  against  us;  until  a  more 
savage  roar  and  a  ruder  shake  than  ordinary  caused  us 
to  halt  and  look  more  earnestly  and  anxiously  into  the 
darkening  atmosphere.  Snow  began  to  fall,  and  we  felt 
that  we  must  yield.  The  wind  did  not  increase,  but  the 
snow  thickened  and  fell  in  heavy  flakes.  Holding  on  in 
the  dimness  to  the  medial  moraine,  we  managed  to  get 
down  the  glacier,  and  cleared  it  at  a  practicable  point; 
whence,  guided  by  the  cliffs  which  flanked  our  right, 
and  which  became  visible  only  when  we  came  almost 
into  contact  with  them,  we  hit  the  proper  track  to  the 
hotel. 

Though  my  visits  to  the  Alps  already  numbered 
thirteen,  I  had  never  gone  as  far  southward  as  the 
Italian  lakes.  The  perfectly  unmanageable  weather  of 


464  OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS. 

July  1866  .caused  me  to  cross  with  Mr.  Girdlestone  into 
Italy,  in  the  hope  that  a  respite  of  ten  or  twelve  days 
mij»ht  improve  the  temper  of  the  mountains.  We 
walked  across  the  Simplon  to  the  village  of  the  same 
name,  and  took  thence  the  diligence  to  Domo  d'Ossola 
and  Baveno.  The  atmospheric  change  was  wonderful ; 
and  still  the  clear  air  which  we  enjoyed  below  was  the 
self-same  air  that  heaped  clouds  and  snow  upon  the 
mountains.  It  came  across  the  heated  plains  of  Lom- 
bardy  charged  with  moisture,  but  the  moisture  was 
reduced  by  the  heat  to  the  transparent  condition  of  true 
vapour,  and  hence  invisible.  Tilted  by  the  mountains 
the  air  rose,  and  as  it  expanded  it  became  chilled,  and 
as  it  became  chilled  it  discharged  its  vapour  as  visible 
cloud,  the  globules  of  which  were  swelled  by  coalescence 
into  rain-drops  on  the  mountain  flanks,  or  were  frozen  io 
ice-particles  on  their  summits,  the  particles  collecting 
afterwards  to  form  flakes  of  snow. 

At  Baveno  we  halted  on  the  margin  of  the  Lago 
Maggiore.  I  could  hear  the  lisping  of  the  waters  on 
the  shingle  far  into  the  night.  My  window  looked 
eastward,  and  through  it  could  be  seen  tbe  first  warm- 
ing of  the  sky  at  the  approach  of  dawn.  I  rose  and 
watched  the  growth  of  colour  all  along  the  east.  The 
mountains,  from  mere  masses  of  darkness  projected 
against  the  heavens,  became  deeply  empurpled.  It 
was  not  as  a  mere  wash  of  colour  overspreading  their 
surfaces.  They  blent  with  the  atmosphere  as  if  their 
substance  was  a  condensation  of  the  general  purple  of 
the  air.  Nobody  was  stirring  at  the  time-and  the  very 
lap  of  the  lake  upon  its  shore  only  increased  the  sense 

of  silence. 

The  holy  time  was  quiet  as  a  nan 
Breathless  with  adoration. 

In  my  subsequent  experience  of  the  Italian  lakes  I  met 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  405 

ttith   nothing   which  affected   me  so   deeply   as   this 
morning  scene  on  the  Lago  Maggiore. 

From  Baveno  we  crossed  the  lake  to  Luino  and 
went  thence  to  Lugano.  At  Belaggio,  which  stands 
at  the  junction  of  the  two  branches  of  the  Lake  of 
Como,  we  halted  a  couple  of  days.  Como  itself  we 
reached  in  a  small  sailing-boat — the  sail  being  supple- 
mented by  oars.  There  we  saw  the  statue  of  Volta — 
a  prophet  justly  honoured  iu  his  own  country.  From 
Como  we  went  to  Milan.  The  object  of  greatest  interest 
there  is,  of  course,  the  cathedral.  A  climber  could  not 
forego  the  pleasure  of  getting  up  among  the  statues 
which  crowd  its  roof,  and  of  looking  thence  towards 
Monte  Rosa.  The  distribution  of  the  statues  magnified 
the  apparent  vastness  of  the  pile  ;  still,  the  impression 
made  on  me  by  this  great  edifice  was  one  of  disappoint- 
ment. Its  front  seemed  to  illustrate  an  attempt  to 
cover  meagreness  of  conception  by  profusion  of  adorn- 
ment. The  interior,  however,  notwithstanding  the 
cheat  of  the  ceiling,  is  exceedingly  grand. 

From  Milan  we  went  to  Orta,  where  we  had  a  plunge 
into  the  lake.  We  crossed  it  subsequently  and  walked 
on  to  Varallo  :  thence  by  Fobello  over  a  country  of  noble 
beauty  to  Ponte  Grande  in  the  Val  Ansasca.  Thence 
again  by  Macugnaga  over  the  deep  snow  of  the  Monte 
Moro,  reaching Mattmark  in  drenching  rain.  The  temper 
of  the  northern  slopes  did  not  appear  to  have  improved 
during  our  absence.  We  returned  to  the  Bel  Alp,  6t- 
ful  triumphs  of  the  sun  causing  us  to  hope  that  we 
might  still  have  fairplay  upon  the  Aletschhorn.  But 
the  day  after  our  arrival  snow  fell  so  heavily  as  to  cover 
the  pastures  for  2,000  feet  below  the  hotel,  introducing 
a  partial  famine  among  the  herds.  They  had  eventually 
to  be  driven  below  the  snow-line.  Avalanches  were 
not  unfrequent  on  slopes  which  a  day  or  two  previously 


4G6  OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS. 

had  been  covered  with  grass  and  flowers.  In  this  con- 
dition of  things  Mr.  Milman,  Mr.  Girdlestone,  and 
myself  climbed  the  Sparrenhorn,  and  found  its  heavy- 
laden  Kamm  almost  as  hard  as  that  of  Monte  Rosa. 
Occupation  out  of  doors  was,  however,  insufficient 
to  fill  the  mind,  so  I  wound  my  plaid  around  my 
loins  and  in  my  cold  bedroom  studied  *  Mozley  upon 
Miracles.' 

PART  II. 

THE  pause  in  the  middle  of  this  article,  which  was 
written  without  reference  to  its  division,  has  caused  me 
to  supplement  these  memories  by  looking  into  the  notes 
of  my  first  Swiss  journey.  In  September  1849  my 
friend  Hirst,  so  often  mentioned  in  these  brief  chronicles, 
had  joined  me  at  Marburg,  in  Hesse  Cassel,  where  I  was 
then  a  student,  and  we  had  joyful  anticipations  of  a 
journey  in  Switzerland  together.  But  the  death  of  a 
near  relative  compelled  him  to  return  to  England,  and 
the  thought  of  the  Alps  was  therefore  given  up.  As  a 
substitute,  I  proposed  to  myself  a  short  foot-journey 
through  the  valley  of  the  Lahn,  and  a  visit  to  Heidel- 
berg. On  the  19th  of  September  I  walked  from  Mar- 
burg to  Giessen,  and  thence  to  Wetzler,  the  scene  of 
'Werther's  Leiden.'  From  Wetzler,  I  passed  on  to 
Limburg,  through  Diez,  where  the  beauties  of  the  valley 
began,  to  Nassau,  reaching  it  after  a  sunset  and  through 
a  scene  which  might  have  been  condensed  intellectually 
into  Goethe's  incomparable  lines  : — 

Oeber  alien  Gipfeln 

l.-.t  Rub,' 

In  alien  Wipfeln 

6  purest  du 

Kaum  einen  Haucli  ; 

Pie  Vogelein  schwciycn  im  Wnlatv 

Warte  nnr,  balde 

Ruhest  du  auch. 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  467 

The  *  balde  ruhest  duauch  '  had  but  a  sentimental  vsilue 
for  me  at  the  time.'  The  field  of  hope  and  action,  which 
in  all  likelihood  lay  between  me  and  it,  deprived  the 
idea  of  the  definition  which  it  sometimes  possesses  now. 

From  Nassau,  I  passed  through  Ems  to  Niederlahn- 
stein,  where  the  little  Lahn  which  trickles  from  the 
earth  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Siegen  (visited  in  1850 
by  Hirst  and  myself)  falls  into  the  broader  Rhine. 
Thence  along  the  river,  and  between  the  rocks  of  the 
Lurlei,  to  Mayence ;  afterwards  to  Frankfort  and  Heidel- 
berg. I  reached  my  proposed  terminus  on  the  night  of 
the  22nd,  and  early  next  morning  was  among  the  castle 
ruins.  The  azure  overhead  was  perfect,  and  among  the 
twinkling  shadows  of  the  surrounding  woods,  the  thought 
of  Switzerland  revived.  '  How  must  the  mountains 
appear  under  such  a  sky  ?'  That  night  I  slept  at  Basel. 
In  those  days  it  was  a  pleasure  to  me  to  saunter  along 
the  roads,  enjoying  such  snatches  of  scenery  as  were 
thus  attainable.  I  knew  not  then  the  distant  mountains; 
the  attraction  which  they  afterwards  exercised  upon  me 
had  not  yet  begun  to  act.  I  moreover  did  not  like  the 
diligence,  and  therefore  walked  all  the  way  from  Basel 
to  Zurich.  I  passed  along  the  lake  to  Horgen,  thence 
over  the  hills  to  Zug,  and  afterwards  along  the  beautiful 
fringe  of  the  Zugersee  to  Arth.  Here,  on  September 
26,  I  bought  my  first  alpenstock,  and  faced  with  it  the 
renowned  Rigi.  The  sunset  on  the  summit  was  fine, 
but  I  retain  no  particular  impression  of  the  Rigi'a 
grandeur ;  and  now,  rightly  or  wrongly,  I  think  of  it  as 
a  cloudy  eminence,  famous  principally  for  its  guzzling 
and  its  noise. 

I  descended  the  mountain  through  a  dreamy  opal- 
escent atmosphere,  but  the  dreaminess  vanished  at 
Weggi's  as  soon  as  the  steamer  from  Lucerne  arrived. 
I  took  the  boat  to  Fltiellen.  My  journal  expresses 


468  OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS. 

wonder  at  the  geological  contortions  along  the  flanks  of 
the  adjacent  mountain,  and  truly  famous  examples  they 
happen  to  be.  I  followed  the  G-otthardt's-strasse  over 
the  Devil's  Bridge,  the  echoes  of  which  astonished  me, 
to  Andermatt  and  Hospenthal,  where  the  road  was 
quitted  to  cross  the  Furka.  Taking  by  mistake  the 
wrong  side  of  the  river  Reuss,  I  was  earnestly  ad- 
monished by  a  pretty,  dirty,  little  chalet  girl  that  I 
had  gone  astray.  At  this  time  there  was  no  shelter  on 
the  Furka,  and  being  warned  at  Eealp  of  the  danger 
of  crossing  the  pass  late  in  the  evening,  I  halted  at 
that  hamlet  for  the  nioht.  Here  pastoral  Switzerland 
first  revealed  itself  to  me,  in  the  songs  of  the  Senner, 
and  the  mellow  music  of  the  cow-bells  at  milking-time. 
On  the  29th  I  first  saw  the  glacier  of  the  Rhone. 
Snow  had  fallen  during  the  night ;  the  weathered  ice- 
peaks  of  the  fall  were  of  dazzling  whiteness,  while  a 
pure  cerulean  light  issued  from  the  clefts  and  hollows 
of  the  ice.  A  week  previously  a  young  traveller  had 
been  killed  by  falling  into  one  of  these  chasms.  I  did 
not  venture  upon  the  ice,  but  went  down  to  the  source 
of  the  historic  river.  From  this  point  the  May  en  wand 
ought  to  have  been  assailed,  but  the  track  over  it  was 
marked  so  faintly  on  my  small  map  that  it  escaped  my 
attention,  and  I  therefore  went  down  the  Rhone  valley. 
The 'error  was  discovered  before  Oberwald  was  reached. 
Not  wishing  to  retrace  my  steps  over  so  rough  a  track,  I 
inquired  at  Oberwald  whether  it  would  not  be  possible  to 
reach  the  Grrimsel  without  returning  to  the  Rhone  gla- 
cier. A  peasant  pointed  to  a  high  hill-top,  and  informed 
me  that  if  I  could  reach  it  an  erect  pole  would  be  found 
there,  and  after  it  other  poles,  which  marked  the  way 
over  the  otherwise  trackless  heights  to  the  Hospice.  I 
tucked  up  my  knapsack,  and  faced  the  mountain.  My 
remarks  on  this  scramble  would  make  a  climber  smiie 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  409 

possibly  with  contempt  for  the  man  who  could  refer  to 
such  a  thing  as  difficult.  The  language  of  my  journal 
regarding  it,  however,  is,  « By  the  Lord,  I  should  not 
like  to  repeat  this  ascent!'  I  found  the  signal  poles 
and  reached  the  Grimsel.  Old  Zybach  and  his  fine 
daughters  were  still  there.  He  had  not  yet,  by  setting 
fire  to  the  house,  which  belonged  to  the  commune,  con- 
demned himself  to  the  life  of  a  felon. 

That  night  I  slept  at  Gutannen,and  next  day  halted 
on  the  Great  Scheideck.  Heavy  rain  fell  as  I  ascended, 
but  the  thick  pinesprovided  shelter.  Vapours  leaped  from 
the  clefts  of  the  mountains,  and  thunder  rattled  upon  the 
heights.  At  every  crash  I  looked  instinctively  upwards, 
expecting  to  see  the  rocks -sent  down  in  splinters.  On 
the  following  day  I  crossed  the  Wengern  Alp,  saw  the 
avalanches  of  the  Jungfrau,  and  heard  the  warble  of 
her  echoes.  Then  swiftly  down  to  Lauterbrunnen,  and 
through  the  valley  of  Interlaken,  with  hardly  a  hope 
of  being  able  to  reach  Neuhaus  in  time  to  catch  the 
steamer.  I  had  been  told  over  and  over  again  that  it 
was  hopeless,  but  I  thought  it  a  duty  to  try.  The 
paddles  were  turning,  and  a  considerable  distance 
already  separated  the  steamer  and  the  quay  when  I 
arrived.  This  distance  was  cleared  at  a  bound,  under 
a  protest  on  the  part  of  the  captain  and  the  bystanders, 
and  that  night  I  bivouacked  at  Thun.  • 

On  the  following  day  I  drove  to  Berne,  and  walked 
thence  through  Solothurm  to  Basel.  The  distant  aspect 
of  the  Alps  appeared  to  be  far  more  glorious  than  the 
nearer  view.  From  a  distance  the  Formcmer,  or  spurs, 
and  the  highest  crests  were  projected  against  a  com- 
mon background,  the  apparent  height  of  the  mountains 
being  thereby  enormously  augmented.  The  aqueous 
air  had  also  something  to  do  with  their  wonderful 
illumination.  The  railway  station  being  then  at  Effrin- 


GUI  JULKKE  JOTTERGS. 

miles  from  Basel,  I  set  ont  to 
walk  there,  bnt  on  crossing  the  frontier  was  intercepted 

--.   -.    -.,:•-       I      ...  ;..-,...:•:,  :  .:  ::  _..  i : :    :e- 

Rasftatt  had  oeeoned  a  short  time  previously, 
and  the  Prussians,  then  the  general  inamgent-crosben 
of  Germany,  held  powrsinwi  of  the  Grand  Dnehy  of 
I  was  detained  for  some  bonus,  being  taken 
E  official  to  .••«*fcM'Jlr  neither  logic  nor  entreaty 
to  be  off  any  avaiL  The  Inspector  at  Leo- 
fiist  pofite  hat  inexorable,  then  irate; 
r^  If  in  jnitliiflj  bin  rtiictnrm^hr  dunrd  mr  tn  lirtrn 
he  read  his  inUintiions.  They  were  certainly 
mphatic^hntlhLj  •ct^ directed  against  *D>eofache 
I  immtidiafaiy  drewhi»  attention  to  the 
wands,,  and  fflatly  denied  his  right  to  detain  me.  I  ap- 

.  -  •  .    •      :_        ,;.   .;  - .  -;  ~  ^  ..-:'_.:  ^  :.   :        -    _"~    :•  "-, 

name  of  which  at  the  time  had  become  Genan.  Anew 

light,  «MM«aBJ  tp  Jlmmm  •ff"^  Aft  Mxpffi1  t«r  ;  |h?  aJmilHheii 

my  plea,  and  let  me  go.    Thns  ended  my  fast  Swfea 
and  nntfl  1856  I  dnl  not  make  a  aeeond. 
minHnenees  of  humanity  whidh  these  ohi  veeordc 

interest  me  move  than  those  of  physical  fBmndenr. 

. 

Hktr  iii"i!.r  tiri|T?  and  £xir9$  aoud  the  bright— eved  maidens 

"»  ^&     ~g-*~ 

•    maeet.  aaad  who  at  times  •••••^^••^1 


<S»EI  HUT  TDrCQC'iJTr  tioum  t3ae  Alps  tlfoenntaelwes. 


EBT  fesst  taHtnuagf-isSaBe  in  the  snm- 
7  ;  I  maaPteS  it.,  im  eanapomy  with  a  friend,  on 

eoniLir.  .  !Q!T  «        fine  air  of  the  pin  if  n  and 

-* 

rJtit?  ibtre  tdif  tt^^  Ailksr  HiMidl  maodaffld  •«»  nrndfy  fit  Car 

ifcrsi  '^ET  w<e  jjaaSe  an 


ctmang,  n 

©f  Hag  giflcieg'abof*e  thv 


471 


:-  :X7 

WefHcdah^aeAfe.! 

..•-..- 1    "       v :        :_  "    - 

.-,  _".  :  '  '  - 

m  te  ndk 

— 

•."'.;•"  "  -"". 

__.     r  . :      ._     rr.     ..          . .         -^ 

-   •»_ „-     _.   »     ~  "»        "•»  -  .  .     .  : 

:  -.•"      "  '-  _"   /.  -       -     '     -  _"     -'-     -    -         •    '  "       •   -       - 

:•;•:•:?       r :  v  :  . .  i   v  .  ~    "   :         " "     •    -•"    "  '  -          -      . 

.  I't    :•:.?:   j"-:  '..;":•.'•      ------.       -   -    - 

i    :.    :_.,::-.-:/:•:.    : -.  -      -     -:_-::,:<:      -    rt     :  -:•: 
_..:    -   :    :r'--_     -;-   :.::•:  :_-t  :v          :     ::::.-:    -   = 


472  OLD  ALFINE  JOTTINGS. 

of  the  rising  sun.  The  bloom  crept  gradually  down- 
wards over  the  snows,  until  the  whole  mountain  world 
partook  of  the  colour.  It  is  not  in  the  night  nor  in 
the  day — it  is  not  in  any  statical  condition  of  the 
atmosphere — that  the  mountains  look  most  sublime. 
It  is  during  the  few  minutes  of  transition  from  twi- 
light to  full  day  through  the  splendours  of  the  dawn. 

Seven  hours'  climbing  brought  us  to  the  higher 
slopes,  which  were  for  the  most  part  ice,  and  required 
deep  step-cutting.  The  whole  duty  of  the  climber  on 
such  slopes  is  to  cut  his  steps  deeply,  and  to  stand  in 
them  securely.  At  one  period  of  my  mountain  life  I 
looked  lightly  on  the  possibility  of  a  slip,  having  full 
faith  in  the  resources  of  him  who  accompanied  me,  and 
very  little  doubt  of  my  own.  Experience  has  qualified 
this  faith  in  the  power  even  of  the  best  of  climbers 
upon  a  steep  ice-slope.  A  slip  under  such  circumstances 
must  not  occur.  The  Jungt'rau  began  her  cannonade 
of  avalanches  very  early :  five  of  them  thundered  down 
her  precipices  before  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
Bauman,  being  the  youngest  man,  undertook  the  labour 
of  step-cutting,  which  the  hardness  of  the  ice  rendered 
severe.  He  was  glad  from  time  to  time  to  escape  to 
the  snow-cornice  which,  unsupported  save  by  its  own 
tenacity,  overhung  the  Grindelvvald  side  of  the  moun- 
tain, checking  himself  at  intervals  by  looking  over  the 
edge  of  the  cornice,  to  assure  himself  of  its  sufficient 
thickness  to  bear  our  weight.  A  wilder  precipice  is 
hardly  to  be  seen  than  this  wall  of  the  Eiger.  Viewed 
from  the  cornice  at  its  top  it  seems  to  drop  sheer  for 
eight  thousand  feet  down  to  Grrindelwald.  When  the 
cornice  became  unsafe,  Bauman  retreated,  and  step- 
cutting  recommenced.  We  reached  the  summit  before 
nine  o'clock,  and  had  from  it  an  outlook  over  as  glorious 
a  scene  as  this  world  perhaps  affords. 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  473 

On  tbe  following  day,  accompanied  by  Michel,  I 
went  down  to  Lauterbrunnen,  and  afterwards  crossed 
the  Petersgrat  a  second  time  to  Flatten,  where  the  door 
of  the  cure  being  closed  against  travellers,  we  were 
forced  into  dirty  quarters  in  an  adjacent  house.  From 
Flatten,  instead  of  going  as  before  over  the  Lotschsattel, 
we  struck  obliquely  across  the  ridge  above  the  Nesthorn, 
and  down  upon  the  Jaggi  glacier,  making  thus  an 
exceedingly  fine  excursion  from  Flatten  to  the  Bel  Alp. 
Thence,  after  a  brief  halt,  I  pushed  on  to  Zermatt. 

I  have  already  mentioned  Carrel,  dit  le  bersaglier, 
who  accompanied  Bennen  and  myself  in  our  attempt 
upon  the  Matterhorn  in  1862,  and  who  in  1865  reached 
the  summit  of  the  mountain.  With  him  I  had  been 
in  correspondence  for  some  time,  and  from  his  letters 
an  enthusiastic  desire  to  be  my  guide  up  the  Matter- 
horn  might  be  inferred.  From  the  Kiffelberg  I  crossed 

o  o 

the  Theodule  to  Breuil,  where  I  saw  Carrel.  He  had 
naturally  and  deservedly  grown  in  his  own  estimation. 
In  the  language  of  philosophy,  his  environment  had 
changed  and  he  had  assumed  new  conditions  of 
equilibrium,  but  they  were  decidedly  unfavourable  to 
the  climbing  of  the  Mutterhorn.  His  first  condition 
was  that  I  should  -take  three  guides  at  150  francs 
apiece,  and  these  were  to  be  aided  by  porters  as  far  as 
the  cabin  upon  the  Matterhorn.  He  also  objected  to 
the  excellent  company  of  Christian  Michel.  In  fact, 
circumstances  had  produced  their  effect  upon  my  friend 
Carrel,  and  he  was  no  longer  a  reasonable  man.  To  do 
him  justice,  I  believe  he  afterwards  repented,  and  sent 
his  friends  Bich  and  Meynet  to  speak  to  me  while  he 
kept  aloof.  A  considerable  abatement  was  soon  made 
in  their  demands,  and  without  arranging  anything  defi- 
nitely, I  quitted  Breuil  on  the  understanding  that  I 


474  OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS. 

should  return  if  the  weather,  which  was  then  unfit  foi 
the  Matterhorn,  improved. 

I  waited  at  the  Eiffel  for  twelve  days,  making  small 
excursions  here  and  there.  But  though  the  weather 
was  not  so  abominable  as  it  had  been  last  year,  the 
frequent  snow-discharges  on  the  Matterhorn  kept  it  un- 
assailable. In  company  with  Mr.  Craufurd  Grove,  who 
had  engaged  Carrel  as  his  guide,  Michel  being  mine, 
I  made  the  pass  of  the  Trift  from  Zermatt  to  Zinal. 
Carrel  led  and,  on  the  rocks,  acquitted  himself  admir- 
ably. He  is  a  first-rate  rockman.  I  could  understand 
and  share  the  enthusiasm  experienced  by  Mr.  Hinchliff 
in  crossing  this  truly  noble  pass.  It  is  certainly  one 
of  the  finest  in  the  whole  Alps.  For  that  one  day 
moreover  the  weather  was  magnificent.  Next  day  we 
crossed  to  Evolena,  going  far  astray,  and  thus  convert- 
ing a  light  day  into  a  heavy  one.  From  Evolena  we 
purposed  crossing  tl;e  Col  d'Erin  back  to  Zermatt,  but 
the  weather  would  not  let  us.  This  excursion  had 
been  made  with  the  view  of  allowing  the  Matterhorn 
a  little  time  to  arrange  its  temper ;  but  the  temper 
continued  sulky,  and  at  length  wearied  me  out.  We 
went  round  by  the  valley  of  the  Rhone  to  Zermatt, 
and  finding  matters  there  worse  than  ever,  both  Mr. 
Grove  and  myself  returned  to  Visp,  intending  to  quit 
Switzerland  together.  Here  he  changed  his  mind  and 
returned  to  Zermatt;  on  the  same  day  the  weather 
changed  also,  and  continued  fine  for  a  fortnight.  He 
succeeded  in  getting  with  Carrel  to  the  top  of  the 
Matterhorn,  being  therefore  the  first  Englishman  that 
gained  the  summit  from  the  southern  side.  A  ramble 
in  the  Highlands,  including  a  visit  to  the  Parallel 
Roads  of  Glenroy,  concluded  my  vacation  in  1367. 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  475 


PASSAGE  OF  THE 

Call  not  waste  that  barren  cone 

Above  the  floral  zone; 

Where  forests  starve 

It  is  pure  use. 

What  sheaves  like  those  which  here  we  glean  and  bind 

Of  a  celestial  Ceres  and  the  Muse?  ' 

The  'oil  of  life'  burnt  very  low  with  me  in  June 
1868.  Driven  from  London  by  Dr.  Bence  Jones,  I 
reached  the  Giessbach  Hotel  on  the  Lake  of  Brientz 
early  in  July.  No  pleasanter  position  could  be  found  for 
an  invalid.  My  friend  Hirst  was  with  me,  and  we  made 
various  little  excursions  in  the  neighbourhood.  The 
most  pleasant  of  these  was  to  the  Hinterburger  See,  a 
small  and  lonely  lake  high  up  among  the  hills,  fringed 
on  one  side  by  pines,  and  overshadowed  on  the  other  by 
the  massive  limestone  buttresses  of  the  Hinterburg.  It 
is  an  exceedingly  lovely  spot,  but  rarely  visited.  The 
Giessbach  Hotel  is  an  admirably  organised  establish- 
ment. The  table  is  served  by  well-brought-up  Swiss 
girls  in  Swiss  costume,  fresh,  handsome,  and  modest, 
who  come  there  not  as  servants,  but  to  learn  the  mys- 
teries of  housekeeping.  And  among  her  maidens  moved 
like  a  little  queen  the  graceful  daughter  of  the  host ; 
noiseless,  but  effectual  in  her  rule  and  governance.1  I 
went  to  the  Giessbach  with  a  prejudice  against  its  arti- 
ficial illumination.  The  crowd  of  spectators  may  suggest 
the  theatre,  but  the  lighting  up  of  the  water  is  fine. 
The  colourless  light  pleased  me  best ;  it  merely  inten- 
sified the  contrast  revealed  by  ordinary  daylight  be- 
tween the  white  foam  of  the  cascades  and  the  black 
Biirroiinding  pines. 

From    the  Giessbach  we  went  to  Thun,  and  thence 

'  Kmersou's  pocuia.  *  Ail  this  is  now  changed. 

31 


476  OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS. 

up  the  Simmenthal  to  Lenk.  Over  a  sulphur  spring 
a  large  hotel  has  been  recently  erected,  and  here  we 
found  a  number  of  Swiss  and  Germans,  who  thought 
the  waters  did  them  good.  In  one  large  room  the 
liquid  gushes  from  a  tap  into  a  basin,  diffusing  through 
the  place  the  odour  of  rotten  eggs.  The  patients  like 
this  smell ;  indeed,  they  regard  its  foulness  as  a  measure 
of  their  benefit.  The  director  of  the  establishment  was 
intelligent  and  obliging,  sparing  no  pains  to  meet  the 
wishes  and  promote  the  comfort  of  his  guests.  We 
wandered,  while  at  Lenk,  to  the  summit  of  the  Rawyl 
pass,  visited  the  Siebenbriinnen,  where  the  river  Sim- 
men  bursts  full-grown  from  the  rocks,  and  we  should 
have  clambered  up  the  Wildstrubel  had  the  weather 
been  tolerable.  From  Lenk  we  went  to  Gsteig,  a 
finely-situated  hamlet,  but  not  celebrated  for  the  peace 
and  comfort  of  its  inn ;  and  from  Gsteig  to  the  Dia- 
blerets  hotel.  While  there  I  clambered  up  the  Dia- 
blerets  mountain,  and  was  amazed  at  the  extent  of  the 
snow-field  upon  its  tabular  top.  The  peaks,  if  they 
ever  existed,  have  been  shorn  away,  and  miles  of  flat 
neve,  unseen  from  below,  overspread  their  section. 

From  the  Diablerets  we  drove  down  to  Aigle.  The 
Traubenkur  had  not  commenced,  and  there  was  there- 
fore ample  space  for  us  at  the  excellent  hotel.  We 
were  compelled  to  spend  a  night  at  Martigny.  I  heard 
the  trumpet  of  its  famous  musquito,  but  did  not  feel 
its  attacks;  still,  the  itchy  hillocks  on  my  hands  for 
some  days  afterwards  reported  the  venom  of  the  insect. 
The  following  night  was  more  pleasantly  spent  on  the 
cool  col  of  the  Great  St.  Bernard.  On  Tuesday,  July  21, 
we  reached  Aosta,  and,  in  accordance  with  previous 
telegraphic  arrangement,  met  there  the  Chanoine 
Carrel.  Jean  Jaques  Carrel,  the  old  companion  of  Mr. 
Hawkins  and  myself,  and  others  at  Breuil,  had  been 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  477 

greatly  dissatisfied  with  the  behaviour  of  the  bersaglier 
last  year,  and  this  feeling  the  Chanoine  shared.  He 
wrote  to  me  during  the  winter,  stating  that  two  new 
men  had  scaled  the  Matterhorn,  and  that  they  were 
ready  to  accompany  me  anywhere.  He  now  drove,  with 
Hirst  and  myeelf,  to  Chatillon,  where  at  the  noisy  and 
comfortless  inn  we  spent  the  night.  Here  Hirst  quitted 
me,  and  I  turned  with  the  Chanoine  up  the  valley  to 
Breuil. 

At  Val  Tournanche  I  saw  a  maiden  niece  of  the 
Chanoine  who  had  gone  high  up  the  Matterhorn,  and 
who,  had  the  wind  not  assailed  her  petticoats  too 
roughly,  might,  it  was  said,  have  reached  the  top.  I 
can  believe  it.  Her  wrist  as  I  shook  her  hand  seemed 
like  a  weaver's  beam,  and  her  frame  a  mass  of  potential 
energy.  The  guides  recommended  to  me  by  the  Cha- 
noine were  the  brothers  Joseph  and  Pierre  Maquignaz 
of  Val  Tournanche,  his  praise  of  Joseph  as  a  man  of 
unshaken  courage  and  proved  capacity  as  a  climber 
being  particularly  strong.  Previous  to  reaching  Breuil 
I  saw  this  Joseph,  who  seemed  to  divine  by  instinct  my 
name  and  aim. 

Carrel  was  there,  looking  very  gloomy,  while  Bich 
petitioned  for  a  porter's  post;  but  I  left  the  arrange- 
ment of  these  matters  wholly  in  the  hands  of  Ma- 
quignaz. He  joined  me  in  the  evening,  and  on  the 
following  day  we  ascended  one  of  the  neighbouring 
summits,  discussing  as  we  went  our  chances  on  the 
Matterhorn.  In  1867  the  chief  precipitation  took 
place  in  a  low  atmospheric  layer,  the  base  of  the 
mountain  being  heavily  laden  with  snow,  while  the 
summit  and  the  higher  rocks  were  bare.  In  1868  the 
distribution  was  inverted,  the  top  being  heavily  laden 
and  the  lower  rocks  clear.  An  additional  element  of 
uncertainty  was  thus  introduced.  Maquignaz  could 


478  OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS. 

not  say  what  obstacles  the  snow  might  oppose  to  us 
above,  but  he  was  resolute  and  hopeful.  My  desire  had 
long  been  to  complete  the  Matterhorn  by  making  a 
pass  over  its  summit  from  Breuil  to  Zermatt.  In  this 
attempt  my  guide  expressed  his  willingness  to  aid  me, 
his  interest  in  the  project  being  apparently  equal  to 
uiy  own. 

1  le  however  only  knew  the  Zermatt  side  of  the  moun- 
tain through  inspection  from  below;  and  he  acknow- 
ledged that  a  dread  of  it  had  taken  possession  of  him 
during  the  previous  year.  That  feeling  however  had 
disappeared,  and  he  reasoned  that  as  Mr.  Whymper  and 
the  Taugwalds  had  safely  descended,  we  should  be  able 
to  do  the  same.  On  the  Friday  we  climbed  to  the  Col 
de  la  Furka,  examined  from  it  the  northern  face  of  the 
pyramid,  and  discovered  the  men  who  were  engaged 
in  building  the  cabin  on  that  side.  We  worked  after- 
wards along  the  ridge  which  stretches  from  the  Matter- 
horn  to  the  Theodule,  crossing  its  gulleys  and  scaling 
all  its  heights.  It  was  a  pleasant  piece  of  discipline  on 
ground  new  to  both  my  guide  and  me. 

On  the  Thursday  evening  a  violent  thunderstorm 
had  burst  over  Breuil,  discharging  new  snow  upon  the 
heights  but  also  clearing  the  oppressive  air.  Though 
the  heavens  seemed  clear  in  the  early  part  of  Friday, 
clouds  showed  a  disposition  to  meet  us  from  the  south 
as  we  returned  from  the  Theodule.  I  inquired  of  my 
companion  whether  in  the  event  of  the  day  being  fine, 
he  was  willing  to  start  on  Sunday.  His  answer  was  a 
prompt  negative.  In  Val  Tournanche,  he  said,  they 
always  'sanctified  the  Sunday.'  I  referred  to  Bennen, 
my  pious  Catholic  guide,  whom  I  permitted  and  en- 
couraged to  attend  his  mass  on  all  possible  occasions, 
but  who  nevertheless  always  yielded  without  a  murmur 
to  the  demands  of  the  weather.  The  reasoning  had  its 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  479 

effect.  On  Saturday  Maquignaz  saw  his  confessor,  and 
arranged  with  him  to  have  a  mass  at  2  A.M.  on  Sun- 
day ;  after  which,  unshaded  by  the  sense  of  duties  un- 
performed, he  would  commence  the  ascent. 

The  claims  of  religion  being  thus  met,  the  point  of 
next  importance,  that  of  money,  was  immediately  ar- 
ranged by  my  accepting,  without  hesitation,  the  tariff 
proposed  by  the  Chanoine  Carrel.  The  problem  being 
thus  reduced  to  one  of  muscular  physics  we  pondered 
the  question  of  provisions,  decided  on  a  bill-of-fare,  and 
committed  its  execution  to  the  mistress  of  the  hotel. 

A  fog  impenetrable  to  vision  had  filled  the  whole  of 
the  Val  Tournanche  on  Saturday  night,  and  the  moun- 
tains were  half  concealed  and  half  revealed  by  this  fog 
when  we  rose  on  Sunday  morning.  The  east  at  sunrise 
was  lowering,  and  the  light  which  streamed  through  the 
cloud-orifices  was  drawn  in  ominous  red  bars  across  the 
necks  of  the  mountains.  It  was  one  of  those  uncom- 
fortable Laodicean  days,  which  engender  indecision — 
threatening,  but  not  sufficiently  so  to  warrant  postpone- 
ment. Two  guides  and  two  porters  were  considered 
necessary  for  the  first  day's  climb.  A  volunteer  joined 
us,  who  carried  a  sheepskin  as  part  of  the  furniture 
of  the  cabin.  To  lighten  their  labour  the  porters  took 
a  mule  with  them  as  tar  as  the  quadruped  could  climb, 
and  afterwards  divided  the  load  among  themselves. 
"\Vhile  they  did  so  I  observed  the  weather.  The  sun  had 
risen  with  power  and  bad  broken  the  cloud-plane  to 
pieces.  The  severed  clouds  gathered  themselves  into 
masses  more  or  less  spherical  and  were  rolled  grandly 
over  the  ridges  into  Switzerland.  Save  for  a  swathe  of 
fog  which  now  and  then  wrapped  its  flanks,  the  Mat- 
terhorn  itself  remained  clear,  and  strong  hopes  were 
entertained  that  the  progress  of  the  weather  was  in  the 
ri<:ht  direction. 


480  OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS. 

We  halted  at  the  base  of  the  Tete  du  Lion,  a  bold 
precipice  formed  by  the  sudden  cutting  down  of  the 
ridge  which  flanks  the  Val  Tournanche  to  the  right. 
From  its  base  to  the  Matterhorn  stretches  the  Col  du 
Lion,  crossed  for  the  first  time  in  I860,  by  Mr.  Hawkins, 
myself,  and  our  two  guides.  We  were  now  beside  a 
snow-gully  which  was  cut  by  a  deep  furrow  along  its 
centre,  and  otherwise  scarred  by  the  descent  of  stones. 
Here  each  man  arranged  his  bundle  and  himself  so  as  to 
cross  the  gully  in  the  minimum  of  time.  The  passage 
was  safely  made,  a  few  flying  shingle  only  coming  down 
upon  us.  But  danger  declared  itself  where  it  was  not 
expected.  Joseph  Maquignaz  led  the  way  up  the  rocks. 
I  was  next,  Pierre  Maquignaz  next,  and  last  of  all  the 
porters.  Suddenly  a  yell  issiied  from  the  leader : '  Cachcz- 
vous  ! '  I  crouched  instinctively  against  the  rock  which 
formed  a  by  no  means  perfect  shelter,  when  a  boulder 
buzzed  past,  me  through  the  air,  smote  the  rocks  below 
me,  and  with  a  savage  hum  flew  down  to  the  lower 
glacier.  Thus  warned  we  swerved  to  an  arete,  and 
when  stones  fell  afterwards  they  plunged  to  the  right  or 
left  of  us. 

In  1860  the  great  couloir  which  stretches  from  the 
Col  du  Lion  downwards  was  filled  with  a  deep  neve. 
But  the  atmospheric  conditions,  which  have  caused 
the  glaciers  of  Switzerland  to  shrink  so  remarkably 
during  the  last  ten  years,1  have  swept  away  this  neve. 
We  had  descended  it,  in  1860,  hip-deep  in  snow,  and  I 
was  now  reminded  of  its  steepness  by  the  inclination  of 
its  bed.  Maquignaz  was  incredulous  when  I  pointed 

1  I  should  estimate  the  level  of  the  Lower  Grindelwald  glacier, 
at  the  point  where  it  is  usually  entered  upon  to  reach  the  Eismeer, 
to  be  nearly  100  feet  vertically  lower  in  1867  than  it  was  in  1856.  I 
am  glad  to  find  that  the  question  of  'Benchmarks'  to  fix  such 
changes  of  level  is  now  before  the  Council  of  the  British  Association 
[The  shrinking  of  the  glaciers  continues— 1889.] 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  481 

out  to  him  the  line  of  our  descent,  to  which  we  had 
been  committed  in  order  to  avoid  the  falling  stones  of 
the  Tete  du  Lion.  Beimen's  warnings  on  the  occasion 
had  been  very  emphatic,  and  I  could  understand  their 
wisdom  now  better  than  I  did  then. 

An  admirable  description  of  the  difficulties  of  the 
Matterhorn,  up  to  a  certain  elevation,  has  been  given 
by  Mr.  Hawkins,  in  '  Vacation  Tourists  for  I860.'1  At 
that  time,  however,  a  temporary  danger,  sufficient  to 
quell  for  a  while  the  enthusiasm  even  of  our  lion-hearted 
guide,  was  added  to  the  permanent  ones.  Fresh  snow  had 
fallen  two  days  before ;  it  had  quite  oversprinkled  the 
Matterhorn,  converting  the  brown  of  its  crags  into  an 
iron-grey;  this  snow  had  been  melted  and  re-frozen, 
forming  upon  the  rocks  a  coating  of  ice.  Besides  their 
physical  front,  moreover,  in  1860  the  rocks  presented  a 
psychical  one,  derived  from  the  rumour  of  their  savage 
inaccessibility.  The  crags,  the  ice,  and  the  character  of 
the  mountain  all  conspired  to  stir  the  feelings.  Much  of 
the  wild  mystery  has  now  vanished,  especially  at  those 
points  which  in  1860  were  places  of  virgin  difficulty, 
but  down  which  ropes  now  hang  to  assist  the  climber. 
The  grandeur  of  the  Matterhorn  is,  however,  not  to  be 
effaced. 

After  some  hours  of  steady  climbing  we  halted  upon 
a  platform  beside  the  ta'tered  remnant  of  one  of  my 
tents,  had  a  mouthful  of  food,  and  sunned  ourselves  for 
an  hour.  We  subsequently  worked  upwards,  scaling  the 
crags  and  rounding  the  bases  of  those  wild  and  wonder- 
ful rock-towers  into  which  the  weather  of  ages  has  hewn 
the  southern  arete  of  the  Matterhorn.  The  work  here 
requires  knowledge,  but  wit  b  a  fair  amount  of  skill  it  ia 
safe  work.  I  can  fancy  nothing  more  fascinating  to  a 
roan  given  by  nature  and  habit  to  such  things,  than  a 
1  Macmillan  and  Co. 


482  OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS. 

climb  alone  among  these  crags  and  precipices.  TTe 
need  not  be  theological  but,  if  complete,  he  must  be 
religious  with  such  an  environment.  To  the  climber 
amongst  them,  the  southern  cliffs  and  crags  of  the  Mat- 
terhorn  are  incomparably  grander  than  those  of  the 
north.  Majesty  of  form  and  magnitude,  and  richness  of 
colouring,  combine  to  ennoble  them. 

Looked  at  from  Breuil,  the  Matterhorn  presents  two 
summits :  the  one,  the  summit  proper,  a  square  rock- 
tower  in  appearance ;  the  other,  which  is  really  the  end 
of  a  sharp  ridge  abutting  against  the  rock-tower,  an 
apparently  conical  peak.  On  this  peak  Bennen  and 
myself  planted  our  flagstaff  in  1862,  and  with  it,  which 
had  no  previous  name,  Italian  writers  have  done  me  the 
honour  of  associating  mine.  At  some  distance  below  it 
the  mountain  is  crossed  by  an  almost  horizontal  ledge 
always  loaded  with  snow,  which  from  its  resemblance  to 
a  white  necktie  has  been  called  the  Cravatte.  On  the 
ledge  a  cabin  was  put  together  last  year.  It  stands 
above  the  precipice  where  I  quitted  my  rope  in  1862. 
Up  this  precipice,  by  the  aid  of  a  thicker — I  will  not 
say  a  stronger — rope  we  now  scrambled,  and  following 
the  exact  route  pursued  by  Bennen  and  myself  five  years 
previously,  we  came  to  the  end  of  the  Cravatte.  At 
some  places  the  snow  upon  the  ledge  fell  steeply  from 
its  junction  with  the  cliff.  Here  steps  were  necessary. 
Deep  step-cutting  was  also  needed  where  the  snow  had 
been  melted  and  recongealed.  The  passage  was  soon 
accomplished  along  the  Cravatte  to  the  cabin,  which 
was  almost  filled  with  snow. 

Our  first  inquiry  now  had  reference  to  the  supply 
nf  water.  We  could  of  course  always  melt  the  snow, 
but  this  would  involve  a  wasteful  expenditure  of  heat. 
The  cliff  at  the  base  of  which  the  but  was  bui't  over- 
hung, and  from  its  edge  the  liquefied  snow  full  in 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  483 

showers  beyond  the  cabin.  Four  ice-axes  were  fixed  on 
the  Irdge,  and  over  them  was  spread  the  residue  of  a 
second  tent  which  I  had  left  at  Breuil  in  1 862.  The 
water  falling  upon  the  canvas  flowed  towards  its  centre. 
Here  an  orifice  was  formed,  through  which  the  liquid 
descended  into  vessels  placed  to  receive  it.  Some 
modification  of  this  plan  might  probably  be  employed 
with  profit  for  the  storing  up  of  water  in  droughty 
years  by  the  farmers  of  England. 

I  lay  for  some  hours  in  the  warm  sunshine  in 
presence  of  the  Italian  mountains,  watching  the  muta- 
tions of  the  air.  But  when  the  sun  sank  the  air 
became  chill  and  we  all  retired  into  the  cabin.  We  had 
no  fire,  though  warmth  was  much  needed.  A  lover  of 
the  mountains  and  of  his  kind  had  contributed  an 
india-rubber  mattress  to  the  cabin.  On  this  I  lay  down, 
a  light  blanket  being  thrown  over  me,  while  the  guides 
and  porters  were  rolled  up  in  sheepskins.  The  mattress 
was  a  poor  defence  against  the  cold  of  the  subjacent 
rock.  I  bore  this  for  two  hours,  unwilling  to  disturb 
the  guides,  but  at  length  it  became  intolerable.  The 
little  circles  with  a  speck  of  intensified  redness  in  the 
centre,  which  spotted  the  neck  of  our  volunteer  porter, 
had  prevented  me  from  availing  myself  of  the  warmth  of 
my  companions,  so  I  lay  alone  and  suffered  the  penalty 
of  isolation.  On  learning  my  condition,  however,  the 
good  fellows  were  soon  alert,  and  folding  a  sheepskin 
round  me  restored  me  gradually  to  a  pleasant  tem- 
perature. I  fell  asleep,  and  found  the  guides  prepar- 
ing breakfast  and  the  morning  well  advanced  when  I 
opened  my  eyes. 

It  was  past  six  o'clock  when  the  two  Maquignazs 
and  myself  quitted  the  cabin.  The  porters  deemed 
their  work  accomplished,  but  they  halted  for  a  time  to 
ascertain  whether  we  were  likely  to  be  driven  back  o» 


484  OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS. 

to  push  forward.  We  skirted  the  Cravat te,  and  reached 
the  ridge  at  its  western  extremity.  This  we  ascended 
along  the  old  route  of  Bennen  and  myself  to  the  conical 
peak  already  referred  to  which,  as  seen  from  Breuil, 
constitutes  a  kind  of  second  summit  of  the  Matterhorn. 
From  this  point  to  the  base  of  the  final  crag  of  the 
mountain  stretches  an  arete,  terribly  hacked  by  the 
weather,  but  on  the  whole  horizontal.1  When  I  first 
made  the  acquaintance  of  this  savage  ridge  it  was 
almost  clear  of  snow.  It  was  now  loaded,  the  snow 
being  bevelled  to  a  sharp  edge.  The  slope  to  the  left 
falling  towards  Zmutt  was  exceedingly  steep,  while  the 
precipices  on  the  right  were  abysmal.  No  part  of  the 
Matterhorn  do  I  remember  with  greater  interest  than 
this.  It  was  terrible,  but  its  difficulties  were  fairly 
within  the  grasp  of  human  skill,  and  this  association  is 
more  elevating  than  where  the  circumstances  are  such 
as  to  make  you  conscious  of  your  own  helplessness.  On 
one  of  the  sharpest  teeth  of  the  Spalla  Joseph  Ma- 
quignaz  halted,  and  turning  to  roe  with  a  smile,  re- 
marked, '  There  is  no  room  for  giddiness  here,  sir.'  In 
fact,  such  possibilities,  in  such  places,  must  be  alto- 
gether excluded  from  the  chapter  of  accidents  of  the 
climber. 

It  was  at  the  end  of  this  ridge,  where  it  abuts 
against  the  last  precipice  of  the  Matterhorn,  that  ray 
second  flagstaff  was  left  in  1862.  I  think  there  must 
have  been  something  in  the  light  falling  upon  this  pre- 
cipice that  gave  it  an  aspect  of  greater  verticality  when 
I  first  saw  it  than  it  seemed  to  possess  on  the  present 
occasion.  Or,  as  remarked  in  my  brief  account  of  our 
attempt  in  the  '  Saturday  Review,'  we  may  have  been 
dazed  by  our  previous  exertion.  I  cannot  otherwise 
account  for  our  stopping  short  without  making  some 

1  By  Italian  writers  this  ridge  is  called  tbe  '  Spalla  '  (shoulder). 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  485 

attempt  upon  the  precipice.  It  looks  very  had,  but 
no  climber  with  his  blood  warm  would  pronounce  it 
without  trial  insuperable.  Fears  of  this  rock-wall, 
however,  had  been  excited  long  bafore  we  reached  it. 
At  three  several  places  upon  the  arete  I  had  to  signalise 
points  in  advance,  and  to  ask  my  companions  in  French 
(which  Bennen  alone  did  not  understand)  whether  they 
thought  these  points  could  be  reached  without  peril. 
Thus  bit  by  bit  we  moved  along  the  ridge  to  its  end, 
where  farther  advance  was  declared  to  be  impossible. 
It  was  probably  the  addition  of  the  psychical  ele- 
ment to  the  physical,  the  reluctance  to  encounter  new 
dangers  on  a  mountain  which  had  hitherto  inspired  a 
superstitious  fear,  that  quelled  further  exertion. 

To  assure  myself  of  the  correctness  of  what  is  here 
stated  I  have  turned  to  my  notes  of  1862.  The  re- 
perusal  of  them  has  interested  me,  and  a  portion  of 
them  may  possibly  interest  some  of  my  readers.  Here 
then  they  are,  rapidly  thrown  together.  They  em- 
brace our  passage  from  the  crags  adjacent  to  the  Col 
du  Lion  to  the  point  where  we  were  compelled  to 
retreat. 

'We  had  gathered  up  our  things  and  bent  to  the 
work  before  us,  when  suddenly  an  explosion  occurred 
overhead.  Looking  aloft,  in  mid-air  was  seen  a  solid 
shot  from  the  Matterhorn  describing  its  proper  parabola 
through  Hie  air.  It  split  to  pieces  as  it  hit  one  of  the 
rock-towers,  and  its  fragments  came  down  in  a  kin<l  of 
spray,  which  fell  wide  of  us,  but  was  still  near  enough 
to  compel  a  sharp  look-out.  Two  or  three  such  explo- 
sions occurred  afterwards,  but  we  crept  along  the  back 
fin  of  the  mountain  from  which  the  falling  boulders 
were  speedily  deflected  right  and  left.  Before  the  set 
of  sun  we  reached  our  place  of  bivouac.  A  tent  was 
already  there.  Its  owner  had  finished  a  prolonged 


486  OLD  ALPINE  10TTINGS. 

attack  upon  the  Matterborn  and  had  kindly  permitted 
the  tent  to  remain,  thus  saving  me  the  labour  of  carrying 
up  one  of  my  own.  I  had  with  me  a  second  and 
smaller  tent,  made  for  me  under  the  friendly  super- 
vision of  Mr.  Whymper,  which  the  exceedingly  nimble- 
handed  Carrel  soon  placed  in  position  upon  a  platform 
of  stones.  Both  tents  stood  in  the  shadow  of  a  great 
rock  which  effectually  sheltered  us  from  all  projectiles 
from  the  heights. 

*  As  the  evening  advanced  fog,  the  enemy  of  the 
climber,    came   creeping   up    the   valley,   and   heavy 
flounces  of  cloud  draped  the  bases  of  the  hills.     The 
fog  thickened  through  a  series  of  changes  which  only  a 
mountain  land  can  show.     Sudden  uprushings  of  air 
would  at  one  place  carry  the  clouds  aloft  in  vertical 
currents,  while  at  other  places  horizontal  gusts  wildly 
tossed  them  to  and  fro.     Impinging  upon  each  other 
at  oblique   angles   they    sometimes   formed   whirling 
cyclones  of  cloud.     The  air  was  tortured  in  its  search 
for  repose.    Explosive  peals  above  us,  succeeded  by  the 
sound    of  tumbling  rocks,  were  heard    from  time  to 
time.     We   were   swathed   in  the   densest   fog   when 
we  retired  to  rest,  and  had  scarcely  a  hope  that  the 
morrow's   sun    would    be   able   to   dispel   the   gloom. 
Throughout  the  night  I  heard  the  intermittent  roar  of 
the  stones  as  they  rushed  down  an   adjacent  couloir. 
Looking  at  midnight  through  a  small  hole  in  the  can- 
vas of  my  tent  I  saw  a  star.     I  rose   and  found  the 
heavens  without  a  cloud ;  while  above    me   the  black 
battlements  of  the  Matterhorn  were  projected  against 
the  fretted  sky. 

*  It  was  4  A.M.  before  we  started.     We  adhered  to 
the  hacked  and  weather-worn  spine,  until  its  disintegra- 
t  ion  became  too  vast.  The  alternations  of  sun  and  frost 
Lave  made  wondrous  havoc  on  the  southern  face  of  the 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  487 

Matterhorn  ;  cutting  much  away  but  leaving  brown-red 
masses  of  the  most  imposing  magnitude  behind  —pil- 
lars and  towers  and  splintered  obelisks,  cut  out  of  the 
mountain — grand  in  their  hoariness,  and  softened  by 
the  colouring  of  age.  At  length  we  were  compelled  to 
quit  the  ridge  for  the  base  of  a  precipice  which  seemed 
to  girdle  the  mountain  like  a  wall.  It  was  a  clean 
section  of  rock,  with  cracks  and  narrow  ledges  here  and 
there.  We  sought  to  turn  this  wall  in  vain.  Bennen 
swerved  to  the  right  and  to  the  left  to  make  his 
in-pection  complete.  There  was  no  alternative — over 
the  precipice  we  must  go  or  else  retreat.  For  a  time 
it  was  manifest  our  onset  must  be  desperate.  We 
grappled  with  the  cliff.  Walters,  an  exceedingly  power- 
ful climber,  went  first.  Close  to  him  was  Bennen,  with 
arm  and  knee  and  counsel  ready  in  time  of  need.  As 
usual,  I  followed  Bennen,  while  the  two  porters  brought 
up  the  rear.  The  behaviour  of  all  of  them  was  ad- 
mirable. A  process  of  reciprocal  lifting  continue!  for 
half  an  hour,  when  a  last  strong  effort  threw  Walters 
across  the  brow  of  the  precipice  and  rendered  our  pro- 
gress thus  far  secure. 

*  After  scaling  the  precipice  we  found  ourselves  once 
more  upon  the  ridge,  with  sate  footing  on  the  ledges  of 
gneiss.  We  approached  the  conical  peak  seen  from 
Breuil,  while  before  us  and,  as  we  thought,  assuredly 
within  our  grasp  was  the  proper  summit  of  the  re- 
nowned Matterhorn.  To  test  Bennen's  feelings  I  re- 
marked, "We  shall  at  all  events  reach  the  lower  peak." 
There  was  a  kind  of  scorn  in  his  laugh  as  he  replied, 
stretching  his  arm  towards  the  summit,  "  In  an  hour, 
sir,  the  people  of  Zermatt  will  see  our  flagstaff  planted 
yonder."  We  went  upward,  this  spirit  of  triumph 
forestalled  making  the  ascent  a  jubilee. 

4  \Ve  reached  the  first  summit,  and  on  it  fixed  out 


488  OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS. 

flag.  But  already  doubt  bad  begun  to  settle  about  the 
final  precipice.  Walters  once  remarked,  "  We  may  still 
find  difficulty  there."  It  was  perhaps  the  pressure  of 
the  same  thought  upon  my  own  mind  that  caused  its 
utterance  to  irritate  me.  So  I  grimly  admonished 
Walters  and  we  went  on.  The  nearer,  however,  we  came 
to  the  summit,  the  more  formidable  did  the  precipice 
appear.  From  the  point  where  we  had  planted  our  flag- 
staff a  hacked  and  extremely  acute  ridge  (the  Spalla), 
with  ghastly  abysses  right  and  left  of  it,  ran  straight 
towards  the  final  cliff.  We  sat  down  upon  the  ridge 
and  inspected  the  precipice.  Three  out  of  the  four  men 
shook  their  heads  and  muttered  u Impossible."  Bennen 
was  the  only  man  amongst  them  who  refused  from  first 
to  last  to  utter  the  word. 

'  Kesolved  not  to  push  them  beyond  the  limits  of 
their  own  clear  judgment,  I  was  equally  determined  to 
advance  until  that  judgment  should  pronounce  the  risk 
too  great.  I  therefore  pointed  to  a  tooth  at  some 
distance  from  the  place  where  we  sat,  and  asked  whether 
it  could  be  readied  without  much  danger.  "  We  think 
so,"  was  the  reply.  li  Then  let  us  go  there."  We  did  so, 
and  sat  down  again.  The  three  men  murmured,  while 
Bennen  growled  like  a  foiled  lion.  "  We  must  give  it 
up,"  was  here  repeated.  uNot  yet,"  was  my  answer. 
"  You  see  yonder  point  quite  at  the  base  of  the  precipice; 
do  you  not  think  we  might  reach  it  ?  "  The  reply  was 
"  Yes."  We  moved  cautiously  along  the  arete  and 
reached  the  point  aimed  at.  So  savage  a  spot  I  had 
never  previously  visited,  and  we  sat  down  there  with 
broken  hopes.  The  thought  of  retreat  was  bitter.  We 
may  have  been  dazed  by  our  previous  efforts  and  thus 
rendered  less  competent  than  fresh  men  would  have 
been  to  front  the  danger  before  us.  As  on  other  occa- 
sions, Bennen  sought  to  fix  on  me  the  onus  of  return- 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  489 

ing,  but  with  the  usual  result.  My  reply  was,  "  Whera 
you  go  I  follow,  whether  it  be  up  or  down."  It  took 
him  half  an  hour  to  make  up  his  mind.  Had  the  other 
meu  not  yielded  so  utterly,  he  would  have  tried  longer. 
As  it  was  our  occupation  was  gone,  and  hacking  a  length 
of  six  feet  from  our  ladder,  we  planted  it  on  the  spot 
where  we  halted.'  So  much  is  due  to  the  memory 
of  a  brave  man. 

Six  hundred  feet,  if  the  barometric  measurement  can 
be  trusted,-of  very  difficult  rock-work  now  lay  above  us. 
In  1862  this  height  had  been  under-estimated  by  both 
Bennen  and  myself.  Of  the  14,800  feet  of  the  Mat- 
terhorn,  we  then  thought  we  had  accomplished  14,600. 
If  the  barometer  speaks  truly,  we  had  only  cleared  about 
14,200.  Descending  the  end  of  the  arete  we  crossed  a 
narrow  cleft  and  grappled  with  the  rocks  at  the  other 
side  of  it.  Our  ascent  was  oblique,  bearing  to  the  right. 
The  obliquity  at  one  place  fell  to  horizontality,  and  we 
had  to  work  on  the  level  round  a  difficult  protuberance 
of  rock.  We  cleared  the  difficulty  without  haste,  and 
then  rose  straight  against  the  precipice.  Joseph  Maquig- 
naz  drew  my  attention  to  a  rope  hanging  down  the  cliff, 
left  there  by  himself  on  the  occasion  of  his  first  ascent. 
We  reached  the  end  of  this  rope,  and  some  time  was 
lost  by  the  guide  in  assuring  himself  that  it  was  not  too 
much  frayed  by  friction.  Care  in  testing  it  was  doubly 
necessary,  for  the  rocks,  bad  in  themselves,  were  here 
crusted  with  ice.  The  rope  was  in  some  places  a  mere 
hempen  core  surrounded  by  a  casing  of  ice.  Over  this 
the  hands  slid  helplessly.  With  the  rope  in  this  con- 
dition it  required  a  considerable  effort  to  get  to  the 
top  of  the  precipice,  and  we  willingly  halted  there  to 
take  a  minute's  breath.  The  ascent  was  now  virtually 
accomplished,  and  a  few  minutes'  more  of  rapid  climb- 


490  OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS. 

ing  placed  us  upon  the  crest  of  the  mountain.  Thus 
ended  an  eight  years'  war  between  myself  and  the 
Matterhorn. 

The  day  thus  far  had  swung  through  alternations  of 
fog  and  sunbhine.  While  we  were  on  the  ridge  belcw 
the  air  at  times  was  blank  and  chill  with  mist ;  then 
with  rapid  solution  the  cloud  would  vanish,  and  open  up 
the  abysses  right  and  left  of  us.  On  our  attaining  the 
summit  a  fog  from  Italy  rolled  over  us,  and  for  some 
minutes  we  were  clasped  by  a  cold  and  clammy  atmo- 
sphere. But  this  passed  rapidly-  away,  leaving  above  us 
a  blue  heaven  and  far  below  us  the  sunny  meadows 
of  Zermatt.  The  mountains  were  almost  wholly  un- 
clouded, and  such  clouds  as  lingered  amongst  them  only 
aided  to  their  magnificence.  The  Dent  d'Erin,  the 
Dent  Blanche,  the  Gabelhorn,  the  Mischabel,  the  range 
of  heights  between  it  and  Monte  Rosa,  the  Lyskamm, 
and  the  Breithorn  were  all  at  hand,  and  clear;  while 
the  Weisshorn,  noblest  and  most  beautiful  of  all,  shook 
out  towards  the  north,  a  banner  formed  by  the  humid 
southern  air  as  it  grazed  the  crest  of  the  mountain. 

The  world  of  peaks  and  glaciers  surrounding  this 
immediate  circle  of  giants  was  also  open  to  us  to  the 
horizon.  Our  glance  over  it  was  brief,  and  our  enjoy- 
ment of  it  intense.  It  was  eleven  o'clock,  and  the 
work  before  us  soon  claimed  all  our  attention.  I  found 
the  debris  of  my  former  expedition  everywhere — below, 
the  fragments  of  my  tents,  and  on  the  top  a  piece  of  my 
ladder  fixed  in  the  snow  as  a  flagstaff.  The  sumrrit  of 
the  Matterhorn  is  a  sharp  horizontal  arete,  and  fchng 
this  we  now  moved  eastward.  On  our  left  was  the  roof- 
like  slope  of  snow  seen  from  the  Eiffel  and  Zermatt,  oo 
our  right  were  the  savage  precipices  which  fall  into 
Italy,  looking  to  the  farther  end  of  the  ridge  the  snow 
there  seemed  to  have  been  trodden  down,  and  I  drew  my 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  401 

companions'  attention  to  the  apparent  footmarks.  As 
we  approached  the  place  it  became  evident  that  human 
feet  had  been  there  two  or  three  days  previously.  I  think 
it  was  Mr.  Elliot  '  who  had  made  this  ascent — the  first 
accomplished  from  Zermatt  since  the  memorable  one  of 
1865.  On  the  eastern  end  of  the  ridge  we  halted  to 
take  a  little  food  ;  not  that  I  seemed  to  need  it.  It  was 
the  remonstrance  of  reason  rather  than  the  conscious- 
ness of  physical  want  that  caused  me  to  do  so. 

Facts  of  this  kind  illustrate  the  amount  of  force 
locked  up  in  the  muscles  which  may  be  drawn  upon 
without  renewal.  I  had  quitted  London  ill,  and  when 
the  Matterhorn  was  attacked  I  was  by  no  means  well.  In 
fact,  this  climb  was  one  of  the  means  adopted  to  drive 
the  London  virus  from  my  blood.  The  day  previous  I 
had  taken  scarcely  any  food,  and  on  starting  from  the 
cabin  half  a  cup  of  bad  tea,  without  any  solid  whatever, 
constituted  my  breakfast.  Still,  during  the  five  hours' 
climb  from  the  cabin  to  the  top  of  the  Matterhorn, 
though  much  below  par  physically  and  mentally,  I  felt 
neither  faint  nor  hungry.  This  is  an  old  experience  of 
mine  upon  the  mountains.  The  Weisshorn,  for  ex- 
ample, was  climbed  on  six  meat  lozenges,  though  it 
was  a  day  of  nineteen  hours.  Possibly  this  power  of 
long-continued  physical  effort,  without  eating,  may  bs 
a  result  of  bad  digestion  which  deals  out  stingily,  and 
therefore  economically,  to  the  muscles  the  energy  of  the 
food  previously  consumed. 

We  took  our  ounce  of  nutriment  and  gulp  of  wine 
and  stood  for  a  moment  silently  and  earnestly  looking 
down  towards  Zermatt.    There  was  a  certain  official  for- 
mality in  the  manner  in  which  the  guides  turned  to  me 
and  asked, '  Etea-vous  content  d'essayer  ? '     A  quick  re- 
sponsive 4  Oui!J  set  us  immediately  in  motion.    It  wai 
1  Lost  the  following  year  upon  the  Schrackhorn. 
33 


492  OLD   ALPINE  JOTTINGS. 

nearly  half-past  eleven  when  we  quitted  the  summit. 
The  descent  of  the  roof-like  slope  already  referred  to 
offered  no  difficulty ;  but  the  gradient  very  soon  became 
more  formidable.  One  of  the  two  faces  of  the  Mat- 
terhorn  pyramid  seen  from  Zermatt  falls  towards  the 
Zmutt  glacier,  and  has  a  well-known  snow-plateau  at 
its  base.  The  other  face  falls  towards  the  Furggo 
glacier.  We  were  on  the  former.  For  some  time,  how- 
ever, we  kept  close  to  the  arete  formed  by  the  intersec- 
tion of  the  two  faces  of  the  pyramid,  because  nodules  of 
rock  jutted  from  it  which  offered  a  kind  of  footing. 
These  rock  protuberances  helped  us  in  another  way : 
round  them  an  extra  rope  which  we  carried  was  frequently 
doubled,  and  we  let  ourselves  down  by  the  rope  as  far  as 
it  could  reach,  liberating  it  afterwards  (sometimes  with 
difficulty)  by  a  succession  of  jerks.  In  the  choice  and 
use  of  these  protuberances  the  guides  showed  both  judg- 
ment and  skill.  The  rocks  became  gradually  larger 
and  more  precipitous ;  a  good  deal  of  time  being  con- 
sumed in  dropping  down  and  doubling  round  them. 
Still  we  preferred  them  to  the  snow-slope  at  our  left  as 
long  as  they  continued  practicable. 

This  they  at  length  ceased  to  be,  and  we  had  to 
commit  ourselves  to  the  slope.  It  was  in  the  worst  pos- 
sible condition.  When  snow  first  falls  at  these  great- 
heights  it  is  usually  dry,  and  has  no  coherence.  It 
resembles  to  some  extent  flour,  or  sand,  or  sawdust. 
Shone  upon  by  a  strong  sun  it  shrinks  and  becomes 
more  consolidated,  and  when  it  is  subsequently  frozen  it 
may  be  safely  trusted.  Even  though  the  melting  of  the 
snow  and  its  subsequent  freezing  may  be  only  partial, 
the  cementing  of  the  granules  adds  immensely  to  the 
safety  of  the  footing;  but  then  the  snow  must  be 
employed  before  the  sun  has  had  time  to  unlock  the 
rigidity  imparted  to  it  by  the  night's  frost.  We  were 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  493 

on  the  steepest  Matterhorn  slope  during  the  two  hottest 
hours  of  the  day,  and  the  sun  had  done  his  work  effec- 
tually. The  snow  seemed  to  offer  no  foothold  whatever; 
with  cautious  manipulation  it  regelated,  but  to  so  small 
an  extent  that  the  resistance  due  to  regelation  was  in- 
sensible to  the  foot.  The  layer  of  snow  was  about 
fifteen  inches  thick.  In  treading  it  we  came  imme- 
diately upon  the  rock,  which  in  most  cases  was  too 
smooth  to  furnish  either  prop  or  purchase.  It  was  on 
this  slope  that  the  Matterhorn  catastrophe  occurred :  it 
is  on  this  slope  that  other  catastrophes  will  occur,  if 
this  mountain  should  ever  become  fashionable. 

Joseph  Maquignaz  was  the  leader  of  our  little  party, 
and  a  cool  and  competent  leader  he  proved  himself  to 
be.  He  was  earnest  and  silent,  save  when  he  answered 
his  brother's  anxious  and  oft-repeated  question,  *  Ea-ta, 
lien  plac£,  Joseph  ? '  Along  with  being  perfectly  cool 
and  brave,  he  seemed  to  be  perfectly  truthful.  H°>  did 
not  pretend  to  be  '  bien  place '  when  he  was  not,  nor 
avow  a  power  of  holding  which  he  knew  he  did  not 
possess.  Pierre  Maquignaz  is,  I  believe,  under  ordinary 
circumstances  an  excellent  guide,  and  he  enjoys  the 
reputation  of  being  never  tired.  But  in  such  circum- 
stances as  we  encountered  on  the  Matterhorn  he  is  not 
the  equal  of  his  brother.  Joseph,  if  I  may  use  the  term, 
is  a  man  of  high  boiling-point ;  his  constitutional  sang- 
froid resisting  panic  ebullition.  Pierre,  on  the  con- 
trary, shows  a  strong  tendency  to  boil  over  in  perilous 
places. 

Our  progress  was  exceedingly  slow  but  it  was  steady 
and  continuous.  At  every  step  our  leader  trod  the  snow 
cautiously,  seeking  some  rugosity  on  the  rock  beneath 
it.  This  however  was  rarely  found,  and  in  most  cases 
he  had  to  establish  practicable  attachments  between  the 
BDOW  and  the  slope  which  bore  it.  No  semblance  of  a 


494  OLD   ALPIXE   JOTTINGS. 

?lip  occurred  in  the  case  of  any  one  of  us ;  had  a  slip 
occurred  I  do  not  think  the  worst  consequences  could 
have  been  avoided.  I  wish  to  stamp  this  slope  of  the 
Matterhorn  with  the  character  that  really  belonged  to 
it  when  we  descended  it,  and  I  do  not  hesitate  to  express 
the  belief  that  the  giving  way  of  any  one  of  our  party 
would  have  carried  the  whole  of  us  to  ruin.  Why,  thenj 
it  may  be  asked,  employ  the  rope?  The  rope,  I  reply, 
all  its  possible  drawbacks  under  such  circumstances 
notwithstanding,  is  the  safeguard  of  the  climber.  Not 
to  speak  of  the  moral  efl'ect  of  its  presence,  an  amount 
of  help  upon  a  dangerous  slope  that  might  be  measured 
by  the  gravity  of  a  few  pounds  is  often  of  incalcul- 
able importance ;  and  thus,  though  the  rope  may  be  not 
only  useless  but  disastrous  if  (he  footing  be  clearly  lost, 
and  the  glissade  fairly  begun,  it  lessens  immensely  the 
chance  of  this  occurrence. 

With  steady  perseverance,  difficulties  upon  a  moun- 
tain, as  elsewhere,  come  to  an  end.  We  were  finally 
able  to  pass  from  the  face  of  the  pyramid  to  its  rugged 
edge,  feeling  with  comfort  that  honest  strength  and  fair 
skill,  which  might  have  gone  for  little  on  the  slope, 
were  here  masters  of  the  situation. 

Standing  on  the  arete  at  the  foot  of  a  remarkable 
cliff-gable  seen  from  Zermatt,  and  permitting  the  vision 
to  range  over  the  Matterhorn,  its  appearance  from  above 
was  exceedingly  wild  and  impressive.  Hardly  two  things 
can  be  more  different  than  the  respective  aspects  of  the 
mountain  from  above  and  from  below.  Seen  from  the 
KifTel  or  from  Zermatt  it  presents  itself  as  a  compact 
pyramid,  smooth  and  steep,  and  defiant  of  the  weather- 
ing air.  From  above  it  seems  torn  to  pieces  by  the  frosts 
of  ages,  while  its  vast  facettes  are  so  foreshortened  as  to 
stretch  out  into  the  distance  like  plains.  But  this  under- 
estimate of  the  steepness  of  the  mountain  is  checked  by 


OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS.  495 

the  deportment  of  its  stones.  Their  discharge  along  the 
side  of  the  pyramid  was  incessant,  and  at  any  moment 
by  detaching  a  single  boulder  we  could  let  loose  a 
cataract  of  them,  which  flew  with  wild  rapidity  and  with 
a  clatter  as  loud  as  thunder  down  the  mountain.  We 
once  wandered  too  far  from  the  arete,  and  were  warned 
back  to  it  by  a  train  of  these  missiles  sweeping  past  us. 

As  long  as  the  temperature  of  our  planet  differs  from 
that  of  space  so  long  will  the  forms  upon  her  surface 
undergo  mutation,  and  as  soon  as  equilibrium  has  been 
established  we  shall  have,  not  peace,  but  death.  Life  is 
the  product  and  accompaniment  of  change,  and  the  self- 
same power  that  tears  the  flanks  of  the  hills  to  pieces  is 
the  mainspring  of  the  animal  and  vegetable  worlds. 
Still,  there  is  something  chilling,  if  not  humiliating,  in 
the  contemplation  of  the  irresistible  and  remorseless 
character  of  those  infinitesimal  forces  whose  summation 
through  the  ages  pulls  down  even  the  Matterhorn. 
Hacked  and  hurt  by  time,  the  aspect  of  the  mountain 
from  its  higher  crags  saddened  me.  Hitherto  the  im- 
pression it  had  made  was  that  of  savage  strength,  but 
here  we  had  inexorable  decay. 

This  notion  of  decay  implied  a  reference  to  a  period 
of  prime  when  the  Matterhorn  was  in  the  full  strength 
of  mountainhoocl.  Thought  naturally  ran  back  to  its 
possible  growth  and  origin.  Nor  did  it  halt  there,  but. 
wandered  on  through  molten  worlds  to  that  nebulous 
haze  which  philosophers  have  regarded,  and  with  good 
reason,  as  the  proximate  source  of  all  material  things. 
Could  the  blue  sky  above  be  the  residue  of  that  haze  ? 
Would  the  azure  which  deepens  on  the  heights  sink 
into  utter  darkness  beyond  the  atmosphere?  I  tried 
to  look  at  this  universal  cloud,  containing  within  itself 
the  prediction  of  all  that  has  since  occurred;  I  tried 
to  imagine  it  as  the  seat  of  those  forces  whose  action 


496  OLD  ALPINE  JOTTINGS. 

was  to  issue  in  solar  and  stellar  systems,  and  all  that 
they  involve.  Did  that  formless  fog  contain  potentially 
the  sadness  with  which  I  regarded  the  Matterhorn  ?  Did 
the  thought  which  thus  ran  back  through  the  ages  simply 
return  to  its  primeval  home  ?  If  so,  bad  we  not  better 
recast  our  definitions  of  matter  and  force  ?  for  if  life 
and  thought  be  the  very  flower  of  both,  any  definition 
which  omits  life  and  thought  must  be  inadequate,  if 
not  untrue.  Are  questions  like  these  warranted  ?  Are 
they  healthy  ?  Ought  they  not  to  be  quenched  by  a 
life  of  action  ?  Healthy  or  unhealthy,  can  we  quench 
them  ?  And  if  the  final  goal  of  man  has  not  been  yet. 
attained,  if  his  development  has  not  been  yet  arrested, 
who  can  say  that  such  yearnings  and  questionings  are 
not  necessary  to  the  opening  of  a  finer  vision,  to  the 
budding  and  the  growth  of  diviner  powers  ?  When  I 
look  at  the  heavens  and  the  earth,  at  my  own  body,  at 
my  strength  and  imbecility  of  mind,  even  at  these 
ponderings,  and  ask  myself  is  there  no  being  or  thing 
in  the  universe  that  knows  more  about  these  matters 
than  I  do ;  what  is  my  answer  ?  Does  antagonism  to 
theology  stand  with  none  of  us  in  the  place  of  a  religion  ? 
Supposing  our  theologic  schemes  of  creation,  con- 
demnation, and  redemption  to  be  dissipated ;  and  the 
warmth  of  denial,  which  as  a  motive  force  can  match 
the  warmth  of  affirmation,  dissipated  at  the  same  time; 
would  the  undeflected  mind  return  to  the  meridian  of 
absolute  neutrality  as  regards  these  ultra-physical 
questions?  Is  such  a  position  one  of  stable  equili- 
brium ?  The  channels  of  thought  being  already  formed, 
such  are  the  questions  without  replies  which  could  run 
through  the  mind  during  a  ten  minutes'  halt  upon  the 
weathered  spine  of  the  Matterhorn. 

We  shook  the  rope  away  from  us,  and  went  rapidly 
down  the  rocks.     The  day  was  well  advanced  when  we 


OLD  ALPIHE  JOTTINGS.  497 

reached  the  cabin,  and  between  it  and  the  base  of  the 
pyramid  we  lost  our  way.  It  was  late  when  we 
regained  it,  and  by  the  time  we  reached  the  ridge  of 
the  Hornli  we  were  unable  to  distinguish  rock  from  ice. 
We  should  have  fared  better  than  we  did  if  we  had  kept 
along  that  ridge  and  felt  our  way  to  the  Schwarz-See, 
whence  there  would  have  been  no  difficulty  in  reaching 
Zermatt.  But  we  left  the  Hornli  to  our  right,  and 
found  ourselves  incessantly  checked  in  the  darkness  by 
ledges  and  precipices,  possible  and  actual.  We  were 
afterwards  entangled  in  the  woods  of  Zmutt,  but  finally 
struck  the  path  and  followed  it  to  Zermatt,  which  we 
reached  between  one  and  two  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

[In  the  woods  of  Zmutt  I  was  beset  by  overpowering  sleepiness, 
which  disappeared  in  the  open.  Madame  Seiler  divined  the  mean- 
ing of  my  knocking  for  admittance  to  the  Monte  Rosa  Hotel.  'It 
is  the  Professor,'  she  said,  '  who  has  come  over  the  Matterhorn.' 
While  food  was  preparing,  Mr.  Seiler  asked  me  whether,  in  view  of 
future  ascents,  it  would  not  be  wise  to  place  ropes  or  chains  at  th'e 
daneerous  points.  '  By  doing  so,'  I  replied,  'you  will  save  life,  but- 
you  will  spoil  the  mountain.'  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  Seiler 
thirty-three  years  ago.  To  the  sorrow  of  his  friends,  his  well  known 
figure  will  be  Been  at  Zermatt  no  more. —  October  1891  1 


493 


OX  ALP  LUSGEN. 

TOE  sun  has  cleared  the  peaks  and  quenched  the  flush 
Of  orient  crimson  with  excess  of  light. 
The  tall  grass  quivers  in  the  rhythmic  air 
Without  a  sound  ;  yet  each  particular  blade 
Trembles  in  song,  had  we  but  ears  to  hear. 
The  hot  rays  smite  us,  but  a  quickening  breeze 
Keeps  languor  far  away.     Unslumbering, 
The  soul  enlarged  takes  in  the  mighty  scene. 

The  plummet  from  this  height  must  sink  afar 

To  reach  yon  rounded  mounds  which  seem  s-o  small. 

They  shrink  in  the  embrace  of  vaster  forms, 

Though,  placed  amid  the  pomp  of  Cumbrian  Foils, 

These  hillock  crests  would  overtop  them  all. 

Steep  fall  the  meadows  to  the  vale  in  slopes 

Of  freshest  green,  scarred  by  the  humming  streams, 

And  flecked  by  spaces  of  primeval  pine. 

Unplanted  groves  !  whose  piistine  seeds,  they  say, 

\Verp  sown  amid  the  flames  of  nascent  stars — 

How  came  ye  thence  and  hither?    Whence  the  craft 

Which  fhook  these  gentian  atoms  into  form, 

And  dyed  the  flower  with  azure  deeper  far 

Than  that  of  heaven  itself  on  days  serene  ? 

What  built  these  marigolds?     What  clothed  these 

knolls 
With  riery  wlmrtle  leaves?     What  gave  the  heath 


A    MORX1NO   ON   ALP   LLSOEN.  499 

Its  purple  bloom— -the  Alpine  rose  its  glow? 
Shew  us  the  power  which  fills  each  tuft  of  grass 
With     sentient    swarms? — the    art    transcend!  111; 

O 

thought, 

Which  paints  .against  (he  canvas  of  the  eye 
These  crests  sublime  and  pure,  and  then  transmutes 
The  picture  into  worship  ?     Science  dumb — 
Oh  babbling  Gnostic  I  cease  to  beat  the  air. 
We  yearn,  and  grope,  and  guess,  but  cannot  know. 

Low  down,  the  yellow  shingle  of  the  Rhone 

Hems  in  the  scampering  stream,  which  loops   the 

sands 

In  islands  manifold.     Beyond,  a  town, 
Whose  burnished  domes  flash  back  the  solar  Max** — 
Proud  domes  for  town  so  small !     But  here  erewtiile 
Unfurled  itself  the  Jesuit  oriflurnme, 
And  souls  were  nurtured  in  the  tonic  creed 
Of  Loyola.     Grand  creed  !  if  only  true. 
Oh  !  sorrowing  shade  of  him,1  who  preached  through 

life 

Obedience  to  the  Highest  1  could  men  find 
That  Highest  much  were  clear  1  Yon  tonsured  monk 
Will  face  the  flames  obedient  to  a  power 
Which     he    deems   highest,    but   which   you   deem 

damned. 

Cut  by  a  gorge,  the  vale  beyond  the  town 

Breaks  into  squares  of  yellow  and  of  green — 

Of  rye  and  ireadow.    Through  them  winds  ihe  rond 

Which  opened  to  the  hosts  of  conquering  France 

Lombardian  plains— sky-touching  Simplon  Pass — 

Flanked  by  the  Lion  Mountain  to  the  left, 

»  Carljte. 


500  A  MORNING  ON  ALP  LUSGEN. 

While  to  the  right  the  mighty  Fletschorn  lifts 
A  beetling  brow,  and  spreads  abroad  its  snows. 
Dom,  Cervin — Weisshorn  of  the  dazzling  crown — 
Ye  splendours  of  the  Alps  I     Can  earth  elsewhere 
Bring  forth  a  rival  ?     Not  the  Indian  chain, 
Though  shouldered  higher  o'er  the  standard  sea, 
Can  front  the  eye  with  more  majestic  forms. 

From  one  vast  brain  yon  noble  highway  came ; 
'  Let  it  be  made,'  he  said,  and  it  was  done. 
In  one  vast  brain  was  born  the  motive  power 
Which  swept  whole  armies  over  heights  unsealed, 
And  poured  them,  living  cataracts,  on  the  South. 
Or  was  it  force  of  faith — faith  warranted 
By  antecedent  deeds,  that  nerved  these  hosts 
And  made  Napoleon's  name  a  thunderbolt  ? 
What  is  its  value  now  ?     This  man  was  called 
'  A  mortal  God  ! '     Oh,  shade  before  invoked, 
You  spoke  of  Might  and  Right ;  and  many  a  shaft 
Barbed  with  the  sneer,  'He  preaches  force — brute 

force,' 

Has  rattled  on  your  shield.     But  well  you  knew 
Might,  to  be  Might,  must  base  itself  on  Right, 
Or  vanish  evanescent  as  the  deeds 
Of  France's  Emperor.     Reflect  on  this, 
Ye  temporary  darlings  of  the  crowd. 
To-day  ye  may  have  peans  in  your  ears  ; 
To-morrow  ye  lie  rotten,  if  your  work 
Lack  that  true  core  which  gives  to  Right  and  Might 
One  meaning  in  the  end. 


Q. 

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